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£#V/£ 


THE 


SAVAGE. 


BY   PIOMINGO, 


A  HEADMAN  AND  WARRIOR  OF  THE  MUSCOGULGEE  NATION. 


KNOXVILLE,  TENN. 

REPUBLISHED  AT   THE  "SCRAP   BOOK"    OFFICE. 

1833. 


INTRODUCTORY  ADDRESK. 

The  Savage,  it  is  hoped,  will  be  an  acceptable 
<  nt  to  those  who  devote  a  portion  of  their  time  to 
literary  amusements.  Its  aim  is  not  to  instruct  the  must 
enlightened  people  in  the  universe,  but  merely  to  afford 
a  novel  species  of  entertainment  to  that  changeable  be- 
ing, who  delights  in  variety.  If  The  Savage  find  itself 
incapable  of  producing  that  which  is  original,  it  will 
endeavor  to  place  old  things  in  a  new  light;  and  if  it  be 
defective  in  a  certain  quality  known  by  the  name  of 
wii)  ^  faithfully  promises  never  to  have  recourse  to  in- 
decent ribaldry  to  supply  the  deficiency.  Those  who 
may  feel  disposed  to  retire  for  awhile  from  the  conflicts 
of  political  warfare  and  seek  for  relaxation  and  repose 
in  the  wigwam  of  Piomingo,  shall  meet  with  a  friendly 
reception.  He  will  produce  the  calumet  of  peace,  and 
bring  forth  for  their  entertainment  "things  new  and 
old."  Piomingo  is  no  federalist,  no  republican,  no  demo- 
crat, no  aristocrat,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  those 
terms:  but  he  may  boast  with  the  utmost  propriety  of 
being  an  American  "indeed,  in  whom  there  is  no  guile." 
He  sprang  up  in  the  wilderness  far  from  the  haunts  of 
civilized  men.  He  inhaled  with  his  first  breath  a  love 
for  savage  independence;  and  his  subsequent  acquain- 
tance with  the  arts,  sciences,  and  languages  of  polished 
nations  has  not  contributed  to  lessen  his  original  pre- 
possession in  favor  of  the  wild  dignity  of  nature.  He 
enjoys  the  beauties  of  the  gardens,  meadows  and  fields 
of  a  cultivated  country;  but  he  would  resign  them  with 
pleasure  for  the  rivers,  rocks  and  mountains  of  the 
desert.  It  was  his  fortune  many  years  ago  to  form  an 
acquaintance  with  an  intelligent  and  learned  citizen  of 


M53193G 


4  THE    SAVAGE. 

the  United  States,  who,  in  consequence  of  some  mis- 
fortunes in  early  life,  contracted  such  a  distaste  for  the 
manners,  amusements  and  pleasures  of  his  countrymen, 
that  he  adopted  the  resolution  of  seeking  oblivion  of 
his  cares  among  the  children  of  nature.  He  took  up  his 
abode  in  the  country  of  the  Muscogulgees,  where  he 
became  known  to  Piomingo.  A  friendship,  sincere* 
and  lasting  as  life,  was  the  consequence  of  this  intimacy. 
Piomingo  gained  instruction  from  the  lips  of  his  com- 
panion. He  was  soon  enabled  to  read  and  reflect;  and 
felt  himself  carried  away  by  an  irresistible  propensity 
for  investigation.  Delightful  but  fleeting  was  the  period 
of  this  intercourse.  The  friend  of  Piomingo  died;  and 
he  has  endeavored  to  console  himself  for  his  loss  by 
seeking  amusement  among  that  people  from  whom  his 
former  associate  had  retired  with  disgust.  He  has 
travelled  for  several  years  through  the  United  States 
and  at  last  fixed  his  residence  in  Philadelphia. . 

The  good  people  of  this  republic  have  long  derived 
amusement  from  the  journals  of  polished  traveller- 
through  barbarous  nations:  let  us  for  once  reverse  the 
picture  and  see  what  entertainment  can  be  drawn  from 
the  observations  of  a  savage  upon  the  manners  and 
customs,  vices  and  virtues,  of  those  who  boast  the  ad- 
vantages of  refinement  and  civilization. 


THE    SAVAGE. 

BY   PIOMI 
A  HEADMAN  AXD  WARRIOR  OF  THE  XTSCOGUXGEE  XATION 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  I. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  IMFAHCY. 

The  existence  of  things  is  not  strange;  but  the  pow- 
of  perceiving  this  existence  is,  beyond  comprehension, 
wonderful.  ~  .all  we  look  for  the  origin  of  mind  ? 

Whence  sprang  the  young  idea?  Was  it  produced  by  the 
immediate  agency  of  the  Almighty  One?  oris  it  a  ne- 
emanation  from  the  great  fountain  of  nature, 
the  soul  of  the  universe  ?  Our  first  thought  has  perished 
forever:  no  exertion  of  ours  can  bring  it  up  from  the 
gulf  of  oblivion :  may  awaken  the  recollection 

long  past:  we  may  bid  the  scenes  of  childhood 
in  before  us;  and  remember  with  pleasure 
\j  excursions  of  the  unfledged  mind. 
When  we  first  become  conscious  of  our  own  existence, 
every  thing  is  new — every  thing  delightful.  We  inquire 
not  whence  we  came:  we  rejoice  because  we  are.  The 
brisk  circulation  of  the  blood  and  the  kindly  riow  of 
the  animal  spirits  impel  us  to  action.     We  find  it  impos- 
sible to  control  the  tumultuous  emotions  of  exultation 
and  joy.     We  have  no  power  to  remain  in  one  place  or 
continue  silent:  we  run,  we  scream,  we  leap  "like  roes 
jung  harts  on  the  mountains  of  spices."     But  this 
lul  period  passes  away  as  a  dream,  and  visits  us  no 
more.  Our  prospects  become  suddenly  darkened:  some 
faint  idea  of  evil,  of  sorrow,  and  of  death,  passes  through 
the  mind. 

The  first  thought  concerning  the  final  period  of  our 
and  of  our  existence  is  inexpressibly  distressing. — 


U  THE    SAVAGE. 

"Must  I  die  also?"  said  I  to  the  sage  Oconi-mico — "must 
I  die  as  well  as  Quibo?"  "Thou  must  also  die,"  an- 
swered Oconi-mico.  "Shall  I  no  more  walk?  Shall  I 
no  more  climb  up  the  mountain  of  buffaloes?  Shall  I 
no  more  shake  the  fruit  from  the  beautiful  pawpaw  tree, 
or  swim  in  the  waters  of  Tuckabatchee?  Shall  I  no 
more,  dear  Oconi-mico,  shall  I  no  more  see  the  sun  rise 
among  the  trees  of  the  forest?"  "My  dear  child,"  said 
Oconi-mico,  "behold  the  stalks  of  maize,  do  they  flourish 
longer  than  one  season  ?  O bserve  the  trees  of  the  forest ; 
they  grow  old  and  become  rotten :  must  a  man  live  for 
ever?  Thou  must  become  old;  thy  hands  must  tremble, 
thine  eyes  become  dim,  and  death  put  a  period  to  thy 
existence."  "What  is  death?"  "Deathis  the  end  of  life. 

Death  is nothing."     "I  cannot  understand  that: 

come,  let  us  look  at  my  brother  Quibo.  Is  he  asleep? 
let  us  awake  him.  His  face  is  cold :  his  eyes  are  closed ; 
his  limbs  are  stiff:  he  is  dead.  If  I  touch  him,  he  cannot 
feel  me;  If  I  cry,  he  cannot  hear  me;  should  I  pull  open 
his  eyes,  he  would  not  see  me:  he  is  dead.  Why  did  he 
lie  down  on  his  bed  and  die?  Why  did  he  fall  asleep  and 
die?  I  will  run  wild  on  the  hills.  I  will  never  lie  down  to 
sleep,  any  more.    I  will  not  die" 

"My  dear  boy,  look  at  Quibo:  he  has  feet,  but  he 
cannot  walk;  he  has  hands,  but  he  cannot  bend  his  bow, 
or  take  an  arrow  from  his  quiver;  he  has  eyes,  but  he 
cannot  see  the  sun  rise  among  the  trees  of  the  forest: 
the  life — the  spirit — the  thought  of  Quibo  is  gone  away 
to  the  land  of  souls."  Sudden  as  a  flash  of  lightning 
from  a  summer  cloud,  sprang  up  a  new  and  delightful 
idea:  Quiboisnota/Zdead;  his  thought  is  gone  to  another 
country.  "Where  is  the  land  of  souls?"  Oconi-mico 
took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  to  the  door  of  our  hut. 
"Raise  your  eyes,  my  son,  and  observe  those  red  clouds 
in  the  heavens."  "I  observe  them."  "Do  you  see  those 
blue  mountains,  whose  towering  summits  are  mixed 
with  the  descending  clouds?"    "I  see  them." 

"Beyond  these  mountains,  there  is  a  wide  river;  be- 
yond that  river,  there  is  a  great  country;  on  the  other 


THE    SAVAGE.  7 

>ide  of  that  country,  there  is  a  world  of  water;  in  that  wa- 
ter there  is  a  thousand  islands:  the  sun  is  gone  down 
among  them.  These  islands  are  full  of  fruit  trees,  and 
breams  of  water.  A  thousand  buffaloes  and  ten  thousand 
deer  graze  on  the  hills  or  ruminate  in  the  valleys." 
"When  I  die,  shall  I  become  an  inhabitant  of  those 
islands  ?"  "Love  your  friends ;  become  a  great  warrior ; 
and  when  you  die,  the  good  spirit  will  convey  you  to  the 
land  of  souls,  where  Quibo  is."  "Who  is  the  good  spirit? 
Where  is  he?"  "He  is  above  the  stars;  he  sends  down 
the  rain,  the  hail,  and  the  snow;  and  he  passes  by  in 
the  wild  tornado."  "Bad  children,  like  the  son  of  Otto- 
ma,  go  down  into  the  earth,  to  a  dark  place,  where 
dwell  the  wicked  spirits.  My  child,  your  mind  is  fa- 
tigued as  well  as  your  body.  You  must  go  to  rest.  To- 
morrow you  shall  see  Quibo."  ' 

He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  bore  me  to  my  couch; 
he  wiped  away  the  tears  from  my  cheeks  with  the  back 
of  his  hand,  adding,  "Rest  in  peace;  the  good  being 
will  send  down  his  angels  to  watch  over  your  slumbers." 
I  slept;  and  sweet  was  my  repose.  What  can  soothe 
and  calm  the  mind  like  the  protection  of  a  great  and 
benevolent  being?  The  child  may  repose  confidence 
in  the  arm  of  its  father;  but,  to  whom  shall  the  father 
look  up  for  support?  He  is  conscious  of  his  own  weak- 
ness, and  feels  his  dependence  on  every  thing  that  sur- 
rounds him.  He  cannot  subject  nature  to  his  empire, 
nor  drive  the  planets  from  their  orbits.  Must  he  submit 
to  the  operation  of  causes  and  effects?  Must  he  die 
and  be  forgotten  forever?  Or  is  there  any  truth  in  the 
consolatory  invitation:  "Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  arc 
wreary  and  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." — 
( Christians !  Your  religion  sounds  sweetly  in  the  ears  of 
a  weak  and  erring  creature,  like  man.  It  speaks  to 
the  heart,  affords  a  refuge  to  the  miserable,  and  pro- 
vides a  remedy  for  every  evil:  but  I  cannot  divest  my- 
-elf  of  my  original  opinions.  How  indelibe  are  the 
impressions  we  received  in  childhood!  Fifty  summers 
have  browned  my  visage,  and  fifty  winters  have  fur- 


8  THE    SAVAGE. 

rowed  my  cheek;  jet  still  the  maxims  of  Oconi-mico 
are  deeply  engraven  on  the  tablets  of  my  mind.  The 
sun  of  science  has  striven  in  vain  to  dissipate  the  dark- 
ness of  my  superstition;  still  I  see  my  god  in  the  black 
cloud,  and  listen  to  "the  voice  of  his  excellency"  in  the 
thunder;  still  he  reigns  in  the  tempest,  and  passes  by  in 
the  tornado. 

Navigators  inform  me  that  there  is  no  heaven  for  In- 
dians in  the  southern  seas;  yetmyfancycan  peoplestill 
a  thousand  islands  with  the  brave  spirits  of  my  forefa- 
thers. Still  I  see  their  shadowy  forms  chase  the  fleeting 
deer  over  visionary  hills,  and  I  sigh  for  their  company 
and  their  joys.  [To  be  continued.] 


J.OJVGING  AFTER  IMMORTALITY. 

The  desire  of  being  remembered  when  we  are  no 
more  is  deeply  implanted  in  the  human  mind.  We  all 
cast  "a  longing  lingering  look  behind"  and  desire  to 
know  what  will  be  said  of  us  when  w*e  are  no  more.  "I 
shall  not  altogether  die!"  was  the  triumphant  exclama- 
tion of  a  poet  of  antiquity,  when  speaking  of  the  pro- 
ductions of  his  brain;  "I  shall  leave  a  memorial  of 
myself"  is  the  idea  of  the  swain  who  rudely  carves  the 
initials  of  his  name  on  the  glossy  surface  of  a  beech 
tree  in  the  forest. 

The  idler  who  cuts  letters  with  his  knife  on  the  bench- 
es in  the  public  walks,  the  poet  who  writes  verses  with 
his  pencil  on  the  boards  of  the  summer  houses  are 
equally  anxious  that  at  least  some  part  of  them  may 
escape  the  ravages  of  the  gloomy  Libitina. 

We  do  not  attempt  to  condemn  this  propensity  merely 
because  it  discovers  itself  in  trifles.  No:  had  circum- 
stances favored  the  ambition  of  these  candidates  for  im- 
mortality, they  might  have  plundered  cities,  ravaged 
kingdoms,  established  empires,  and  become  "mighty 
hunters"  on  the  earth.  This  is  the  same  principle  which 


THE    SAVAGE 


induced  men  in  early  ages  to  say  to  each  other:  "Go  to, 
let  us  build  us  a  city  and  a  tower,  whose  top  may  reach 
to  heaven;  and  let  us  make  us  a  name " 


COMMUNICATION. 

Piomingo — As  I  know  that  you  have  perused  with 
considerable  attention  our  sacred  books,  and  frequently 
attended  our  places  of  worship,  in  your  peregrinations 
through  these  United  States,  I  cannot  resist  the  inclina- 
tion I  feel  to  request  you  to  give  the  public  some  idea  of 
the  impression  these  things  made  on  your  mind. 

Does  there  not  appear  to  be  an  immense  disparity 
between  the  conduct  of  the  primitive  and  modern  chris- 
tians? Were  you  not,  at  first,  almost  led  to  form  the 
conclusion,  that  the  latter  could  not  be  derived  from  the 
former?  Or  did  you  suppose  it  possible  that  they  migh* 
be  the  same  people  in  a  state  of  extreme  degeneracy 
and  degradation?  The  principles  and  practice  of  the 
early  christians  appear  to  have  been  consentaneous;  but 
will  any  person  in  his  senses  assert  that  the  conduct  of 
the  moderns  is  conformable  with  the  precepts  laid  down 
in  their  books? 

I  do  not  intend  to  request  you  to  particularize  all  the 
instances  in  which  this  disparity  is  glaringly  apparent. 
That  would  be  an  unreasonable  request.  This  is  a 
boundless  subject:  and  were  you  to  engage  in  it,  I  know 
not  how  you  would  bring  it  to  a  conclusion.  Of  one 
thing  I  am  certain;  the  topic  would  not  easily  be  ex- 
hausted. 

Should  you  be  fortunate  in  your  present  undertaking, 
I  hope  you  will  touch  on  this  subject  occasionally.  It 
must  be  admitted,  on  all  hands,  that  every  man  of  honor 
is  bound  by  the  professions  he  thinks  proper  deliberately 
to  make;  therefore,  no  man,  nor  set  of  men,  can  think 
it  hard  that  their  actions  should  be  compared  with  that 
standard  which  they  have  deliberately  and  solemnly 


10  THE    SAVAGE. 

published  to  the  world,  as  the  rule  by  which  their  con- 
duct is  to  be  regulated. 

I  hope,  Piomingo,  that  you  will  not  be  backward  to 
take  notice  of  the  errors  and  follies  you  may  observe 
among  us.  If  we  go  wrong,  we  cannot  plead  ignorance 
as  an  excuse  or  palliation  for  our  errors.  We  have  en- 
joyed great  advantages  over  your  nation  and  the  other 
aborigines  of  America.  They,  alas !  have  long  wan- 
dered in  the  devious  paths  of  error;  but  I  hope  the  time 
is  not  far  distant  when  they  who  have  walked  in  dark- 
ness will  see  a  marvelous  light. 


OLD    AGE. 


"Thou  shalt  rise  up  before  the  hoary  head,  and  honor  the  face  of  an  old  man— 
I  am  the  Lord." 

This  benevolent  precept  is  found  in  the  law,  which 
was  delivered  to  Moses.  The  Jews  may,  for  aught  we 
know  to  the  contrary,  observe  this  commandment;  but 
the  christians,  we  suppose,  consider  it  as  a  part  of  the 
ceremonial  law;  and  therefore  not  binding  on  them  or 
their  posterity.  We  have  often  heard  religious  sophists 
discuss  this  knotty  point  about  the  moral  and  ceremonial 
laws  with  uncommon  ingenuity.  Whenever  any  of  the 
precepts  or  commandments  found  in  the  five  books  of 
Moses  or  indeed  in  any  part  of  the  Old  or  New  Testa- 
ment, appeared  repugnant  to  the  doctrines  of  the  church 
or  the  practices  of  the  faithful,  these  biblical  critics  will 
be  sure  to  inform  you  that  they  are  a  part  of  the  cere- 
monial law ;  and  therefore  not  to  be  observed  by  chris- 
tians under  the  new  dispensation.  Now  as  we  have 
never  seen  a  young  christian  "rise  up  to  the  hoary  head 
or  honor  the  face  of  an  old  man,"  unless  his  age  were 
supported  by  wealth  or  authority,  we  are  necessarily 
led  to  suppose  that  the  precept  above  mentioned  is  con- 
sidered as  a  part  of  the  ceremonial  law  of  the  Jews,  and 
imposes  no  obligation  on  "the  children  of  the  kingdom," 


THE    SAVAGE.  11 

Among  the  savages  of  America  age  is  universally 
respected.  All  unite  to  honor  the  face  of  the  old  man 
whenever  he  appears,  whether  his  blanket  be  old  or  new, 
his  pipe  plain  or  ornamented  with  silver.  But  among 
the  civilized  Americans  I  have  always  seen  age,  particu- 
larly if  it  exhibited  any  appearance  of  poverty  or  in- 
firmity, neglected  or  insulted. 

Does  the  old  man  appear  desirous  to  relate  any  of  his 
boyish  exploits;  no  one  is  disposed  to  listen.  No  one 
can  afford  time  to  attend  to  the  old  dotard,  who  had 
better  be  in  his  bed  or  in  his  grave  than  to  be  here  boring 
us  with  his  antediluvian  performances. 

If  the  old  man  be  possessed  of  any  property,  it  is  a 
hundred  to  one  but  some  finely  polished  and  highly 
civilized  young  christian  will  observe,  "Damn  the  old 
codger:  I  wish  he  was  in  hell,  and  I  had  his  money." 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  II. 

EFFECTS    OF   CIVILIZATION. 

A  stoical  indifference  to  bodily  pain  is,  among  sa- 
vages, one  of  the  first  lessons  of  youth.  Fortitude  to 
bear  every  evil,  and  resolution  to  meet  every  danger, 
are  inculcated  upon  us  by  our  teachers,  as  virtues  of  the 
first  magnitude.  To  suffer  pain  without  complaint,  and 
even  with  cheerfulness,  is  made  the  great  point  of  honor. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  coercion  in  the  savage  system 
of  education.  We  are  proud  of  doing  right,  and 
ashamed  of  doing  wrong.  We  are  taught  to  consider 
ourselves  as  superior  to  circumstances:  at  least,  we  are 
enabled  to  preserve  a  decent  tranquility  of  mind  in  the 
midst  of  the  greatest  possible  adversity.  It  is  known  to 
us,  that  the  vicissitudes  of  life  will  expose  us  to  misfor- 
tunes of  various  kinds.  We  must  support  the  burning 
heat  of  the  summer's  sun,  and  the  intense  severity  of 
the  winter's  cold.  We  must  submit  to  hunger  and 
thirst  and  a  multitude  of  other  privations.     We  must 


12  THE    SAVAGE. 

suffer  sickness  and  pain.  We  may  be  reduced  to  a  state 
of  servitude.  We  may  become  captives,  and  conse- 
quently be  exposed  to  every  species  of  torture  that  hu- 
man ingenuity  can  invent,  or  the  most  violent  animosi- 
ty can  inflict.  All  these  things  being  known  to  our 
philosophic  seniors,  they  exercise  our  bodies,  and  dis- 
cipline our  minds,  in  such  a  manner,  that  we  are  enabled 
to  maintain  a  diguity  of  character  in  every  emergency. 

We  become  patient  of  heat  and  regardless  of  cold. 
We  learn  to  subdue  the  cravings  of  hunger  without 
food;  and  to  allay,  without  drink,  the  parchings  of  thirst. 
We  can  indulge  in  a  feast  of  bear  meat  and  venison,  or 
subsist  on  the  roots  of  the  desert.  Untaught  by  philo- 
sophy, we  enjoy  the  present  moment;  uninstructed  in 
Christianity,  we  "take  no  thought  for  the  morrow:"  we 
expose  our  naked  breasts  to  the  beating  of  the  storm; 
and  a  fearless  spirit  to  every  difficulty. 

It  is  well  known  to  us,  that  the  time  of  our  existence 
here  is  a  period  of  exertion.  We  are  taught  therefore 
to  meet  unavoidable  danger  with  resolution,  and  to  re- 
move the  greatest  difficulties  by  perseverance.  We  are 
obliged  to  climb  the  highest  mountains,  leap  down  the 
steepest  precipice,  and  swim  the  widest  torrent.  The 
science  of  hunting  engages  our  earliest  attention.  We 
study  the  nature  of  our  game,  the  time  of  the  day,  and 
season  of  the  year.  We  know  where  to  find  the  buf- 
faloes in  the  morning;  and  where  they  may  be  disco- 
vered in  the  heat  of  the  day.  We  know  when  they 
visit  the  low  marshy  salt  springs,  and  when  they  descend 
to  cool  themselves  in  the  river.  We  can  rouse  the  deer 
from  his  lair  in  the  frosty  morning,  and  trace  him  over 
the  hills  by  the  newly  fallen  snow.  We  surprise  the 
wolf  in  his  gloomy  haunts,  or  destroy  him  in  his  foraging 
excursions.  We  rouse  the  bear  in  his  den,  and  shoot 
the  panther  among  the  rocks.  We  fix  our  traps  for  the 
fox,  and  drive,  by  stratagem,  the  beaver  from  his  fortified 
habitation.  We  find  the  wild  cat  on  the  mountains,  and 
the  raccoon  in  the  head  of  the  valleys.  We  know  the 
haunts  of  the  otter;  and  the  muskrat  we  shoot  as  he 


THE    SAVAGE.  13 

peeps  from  his  hole.  We  kill  the  mink  on  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  and  the  groundhog  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
We  know  the  daily  rounds  of  the  turkey;  we  take  him 
on  his  roost,  or  shoot  him  on  the  ridges.  We  shoot  the 
geese  in  their  flight,  or  kill  them  when  settled  in  the 
ponds.  We  see  the  slightest  traces  in  the  forest :  we  hear 
the  least  rustling  among  the  branches;  and  we  smell  the 
approaches  of  the  serpent.  We  climb  round  the  rocks, 
slip  through  the  cane,  and  skulk  along  the  valleys. — 
We  study  the  course  of  the  wind  in  our  approaches,  or 
breathe  on  fire,  lest  we  taint  the  purity  of  the  gale. — 
We  know  the  course  our  game  will  pursue,  before  he 
has  been  roused  from  his  harbor.  We  take  the  opposite 
direction,  and  meet  him  as  he  turns  round  the  hill.  We 
guide  our  course  through  the  boundless  wilderness,  by 
the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  even  by  the  appearance 
of  the  trees  of  the  forest.  We  perform  the  most  in- 
credible journeys  without  fatigue,  crossing  the  widest 
rivers  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  Through  the  immense 
desert  we  are  familiar  with  every  hill,  and  at  home  on 
the  bank  of  every  rivulet.  We  walk  proudly  on  the  hills; 
and  from  the  towering  summits  on  the  Appalachian 
mountains,  we  look  down,  with  ineffable  contempt,  on 
the  brutelike  drudgery  of  civilized  life. 

Thus  the  wild  horse  snuffs  the  western  breeze,  bounds 
joyously  over  the  hills,  laughs  at  the  rattling  of  the 
chains,  and  despises  the  bridle  and  the  plough. 

We  build  dams  in  the  rivers;  and  shoals  of  fish  pour 
into  our  baskets.  They  are  arrested  in  their  course  by 
our  arrows  and  our  gigs;  or  they  are  lured  to  destruc- 
tion by  the  temptation  of  our  bait.  We  bid  them  as- 
semble together,  and  we  scoop  them  up  with  our  nets. 

We  study  the  face  of  the  heavens,  and  forctel  the 
changes  of  the  weather.  We  know  when  the  gust  is 
about  to  rise  in  the  west,  and  when  the  wind  promises  a 
continued  rain.  We  can  tell  when  to  prepare  for  snow, 
and  when  ice  will  appear  on  the  waters. 

Do  you  not  suppose,  O  ye  inhabitants  of  cities,  that 
this  system  of  education,  that  these  pursuits  and  em- 
B 


11  THE    SAVAGE. 

ployments,  are  well  calculated  to  sharpen  the  faculties 
and  exercise  the  understanding?  Where  the  mind  is 
accustomed  to  turn  itself  to  such  a  variety  of  vocations, 
and  accommodate  itself  to  such  a  multitude  of  circum- 
stances, must  it  not  become  infinitely  superior  to  that 
sluggish  existence,  whose  ideas  are  continually  occupied 
with  the  millhorsc  round  of  domestic  drudgery? 

Not  only  the  memory,  but  every  faculty  we  possess, 
is  improved  by  exercise:  how  then  can  his  mind  be  en- 
lightened, who  is  the  mere  creature  of  habit,  unaccus- 
tomed to  thought  and  reflection?  Can  he, whose  business 
leads  him  from  the  house  to  the  barn,  from  the  barn  to 
the  stable,  from  the  stable  to  the  orchard,  from  the 
orchard  to  the  cornfield,  and  from  the  cornfield  to  the 
house  again,  possess  an  elevated  understanding?  Can  he, 
whose  most  distant  excursion  extends  not  beyond  the 
neighboring  market  town,  have  a  mind  enriched  with  a 
multitude  of  ideas?  Such  a  being  is  distressed  if  he 
wander  out  of  sight  of  the  smoke  of  his  own  chimney. 
His  friends  are  miserable,  lest  he  should  never  return ; 
and  he,  poor  soul !  gapes  like  a  fish  elevated  above  the 
surface  of  the  water  by  the  line  of  the  fisherman.  He 
gazes  with  surprise  on  every  object  he  has  not  been  ac- 
customed to  contemplate.  He  expects  some  beast  of 
p-rey  to  start  up  in  every  valley,  and  the  devil  out  of 
every  thornbush.  He  looks  for  robbers  behind  every 
hedge,  savage  Indians  in  every  wood.  He  says  his  pray- 
ers before  he  crosses  a  bridge,  and  confesses  his  sins  on 
the  banks  of  every  torrent.  But  night  overtakes  him. 
How  deplorable  his  situation!  Every  withered  bush  is 
a  ghost;  and  every  black  stump,  an  imp  of  darkness! 

But  let  him  get  home  again.  The  sight  of  his  barn 
door,  and  the  appearance  of  old  Towser — the  bawling 
of  his  black  cow,  and  the  smell  of  his  hogsty — the 
squalling  of  his  brats,  and  his  snug  chimney  corner — 
afl  in  sweet  succession — revive,  invigorate,  and  restore 
him.  Having  turned  off  a  mug  of  cider,  he  "is  himself 
again."  And  then — and  then — the  dangers  and  escapes, 
the  windmills  and   the  giants,  the  ghosts  and  the  sa- 


THE     SAVACE.  15 

vages,  the  thunder  and  the  lightning,  the  battles  and  the 
conquests,  astonish  and  confound  the   gaping  auditors. 

Is  this  the  man  you  would  compare  with  the  savage? 
Is  this  the  man  you  would  prefer  to  the  lord  of  the  de- 
sert. 

Man  is  said  to  be  composed  of  two  parts:  body  and 
soul.  Now,  pray  be  so  good  as  to  inform  me  whether 
it  be  the  body  or  soul  of  this  qnimaly  which  is  possessed 
of  that  something,  which  you  honor  with  the  name  of 
civilization.  His  limbs,  you  say,  are  robust  and  strong 
by  exercise  and  labor.  Does  civilization  then  consist  in 
robustness  of  body,  or  brawniness  of  limbs?  He  may  be 
strong  in  his  youth,  but  continual  drudgery  destroys  the 
harmony  of  his  shape,  and  the  dignity  of  his  motion. 
The  elasticity  of  his  limbs  is  destroyed,  and  he  degene- 
rates into  a  mere  beast  of  burden.  His  visage  becomes 
the  very  picture  of  stupidity  and  malignity.  He  is  no 
longer  the  animal  to  whom  God 

Os — sulilime,  dedit,  crelumque  videre 
Jussit,  et  erectos  ad  6idera  tollere  vulto?. 

No:  he  looks  downward  to  the  earth,  and  offers  his  back 
to  the  rider.  His  feet  become  as  the  feet  of  a  camel, 
and  his  hands  rough  and  scaly  as  the  cone  thai  drops 
from  the  top  of  the  pine  tree. 

The  lower  ranks  of  those  who  reside  in  cities,  being 
more  confined  in  their  operations,  are  sunk  still  lower, 
in  the  scale  of  intelligence,  than  the  inhabitants  of  the 
country.  Their  business  being  bounded  by  the  shop, 
and  their  excursions  limited  by  the  market;  what  should 
they  know  but  the  price  of  butter,  and  the  time  of  high 
water?  Can  you  number  the  ideas  of  a  muscle,  or  ia- 
thom  the  intelligence  of  an  oyster?  If  you  can,  you  have 
a  competent  knowledge  of  the  intellectual  powers  of 
the  people  that  I  describe. 

Do  not  naturalists  rank  the  productions  of  nature 
agreeably  to  their  locomotive  powers?  The  animal  is 
more  excellent  than  the  vegetable;  why?  Because  it  is 
capable  of  changing  its  situation.  And  man  is  supposed 


16  THE    SAVAGE. 

to  be  the  most  noble  of  animals,  because  he  can  travel 
from  pole  to  pole,  and  subsist  under  every  climate. 

Vegetables,  admitting  they  were  capable  of  perceiv- 
ing, could  have  but  few  ideas,  being  confined  by  hills 
and  rocks  and  surrounded  by  walls  and  inclosures. 

The  things  called  zoophytes  can  know  very  little 
more  than  a  leaf  of  plantain,  or  a  sprig  of  hoarhound; 
and  those  animals  that  remain,  during  the  whole  period 
of  their  existence,  on  the  same  bank  or  hillock,  are 
scarcely  superior,  in  their  intellectual  powers,  to  a  poly- 
pus or  zoophytic  fungus.  What  knowledge  of  the  world 
was  possessed  by  the  toad,  which  was  shut  up  for  five 
thousand  years  in  the  solid  body  of  a  rock?  Men  who 
vegetate  in  one  spot,  and  have  no  leisure  for  reading  or 
reflection,  must  be  limited  in  their  ideas  and  narrow  in 
their  understandings. 

Such  are  the  blessings  of  civilization;  such  are  the 
consequences  of  refinement. 

But  we  will  be  told  of  the  polished  few,  whose  minds 
are  expanded  by  philosophy,  and  whose  happiness  is  in- 
sured by  a  multiplicity  of  enjoyments.  We  shall  speak 
of  their  happiness  hereafter;  at  present  we  mean  mere- 
ly to  consider  the  paucity  of  their  numbers. 

As  refinement  progresses,  the  number  of  the  refined 
must  necessarily  be  reduced.  If  you  become  elevated, 
you  must  have  supporters.  If  your  elevation  be  stilt 
more  increased,  the  quantity  of  supporting  materials 
must  be  multiplied  in  a  like  proportion.  It  is  absurd  to 
talk  of  all  becoming  equally  refined,  polished,  and 
civilized.  How  can  you  dine  in  state,  if  there  be  none 
to  wait  at  your  table?  And  if  we  increase  your  refine- 
ment, state,  and  splendor,  must  not  your  attendants  con- 
tinue to  be  multiplied  proportionably?  Now,  if  we 
follow  this  train  of  thought,  we  shall  be  able  to  prove, 
by  a  chain  of  incontestable  arguments,  that,  when, 
civilization  is  carried  to  its  acme,  there  will  be  one  man 
polished  into  a  god,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  species  will 
be  slaves,  parasites, and  brutes.  [To  be  continued.] 


THE    SAVAGE.  17 


ACQUISITION    OF    WEALTH. 

It  appears  to  us  nearly  as  hard  for  him  who  devotes 
his  time  to  the  acquisition  of  riches  to  he  perfectly  up- 
right and  honorable  through  the  whole  course  of  a  long 
life,  as  for  a  "camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle." 
The  man  who  receives  a  fortune  by  inheritance  has 
every  opportunity  to  cultivate  and  cherish  his  virtuous 
inclinations:  but  the  man  who  sets  out  in  life  without 
wealth,  is  beset  by  temptations  on  every  side  that  urge 
him  on  to  the  acquisition  of  money,  by  means  both  illicit 
and  unwarrantable.  He  sees  that  property  procures 
pleasure,  attention,  and  respect.  He  wishes  for  plea- 
sure: he  wishes  for  a  distinguished  situation  among  his 
species:  and  in  order  to  obtain  things  so  desirable,  he 
immediately  sets  about  the  business  of  accumulation. 
If  he  be  able  to  subdue  his  love  of  pleasure,  and  think 
proper  to  take  the  plain  beaten  path  of  industry,  he 
may  get  rich;  but  his  temper  and  disposition  will  be 
changed.  He  acquires  his  wealth  with  difficulty;  and 
we  always  love  the  product  of  our  attention  and  labor. 
He  is  now  a  rich  man;  but  the  finer  feelings  and  nobler 
sentiments  of  his  mind  are  absolutely  eradicated:  that 
generous  disregard  of  self,  and  that  enthusiasm  in  the 
rause  of  virtue  have  disappeared. 

A  fortune  is  not  to  be  made  at  once  by  industry;  it  is 
made  up  by  the  daily  accession  of  small  sums.  Small 
sums,  therefore,  become  an  object  of  importance  to  the 
industrious  man.  He  values  them  highly.  And  the  man 
who  sets  a  high  value  on  small  sums  may  possibly  ad- 
here to  the  dead  letter  of  honesty;  but  he  has  lost  that 
nobility  of  the  heart,  for  which  nothing  can  be  a  sufficient 
compensation.  A  minute  attention  to  trifles  has  nar- 
rowed and  contaminated  his  mind.  He  must  be  shut 
out  from  the  congregation  of  those  who  are  clothed  in 
fvhe  white  raiment  of  pure  unsullied  honor:  he  is  unclean. 
B2  7  " 


18  THE    SAVAGE. 


DISCOVERIES. 

"Wist  ye  not  that  such  a  man  as  I  can  certainly  poicwowl" 

Our  violent  desire  to  know  what  the  world  had  said 
and  were  saying,  about  our  Savage  induced  us  to  have 
recourse  to  means  for  gratifying  our  curiosity  which  we 
never  resort  to  unless  on  extraordinary  occasions. 

We  once  studied  the  science  of  powwowing  under  the 
celebrated  Kaioka.  Kaioka  was  a  great  man:  a  priest, 
a  prophet,and  magician.  He  could  predictthe  approach 
of  comets,  and  the  time  when  our  warriors  would  return 
from  their  predatory  excursions.  He  could  prevent  the 
rivers  from  overflowing  their  banks,  and  the  moles  from 
destroying  the  corn.  He  could  foretel  the  event  of  a 
war,  and  interpret  the  meaning  of  dreams.  He  could 
surround  the  moon  with  a  circle,  and  multiply  the  num- 
ber of  suns.  He  could  charm  away  the  most  malignant 
spirit,  and  stop  the  ravages  of  the  most  alarming  dis- 
ease. He  formed  a  treaty  of  friendship  with  serpents, 
and  cherished  the  rattlesnake  in  his  bosom.  He  could 
bring  on  darkness  at  midday,  and  call  down  rain  from 
heaven,  by  his  powerful  incantations.  He  acquired  an 
absolute  ascendancy  over  the  spirits  that  manage  the 
clouds  and  those  that  assist  the  operations  of  rivers. — 
The  genii  of  the  caves  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  abyss 
were  subjected  to  his  power. 

We  took  a  iew  lessons  from  this  wonderful  man,  which 
enables  us  on  extraordinary  occasions  to  dip  a  little  into 
the  invisible  world.  We  can  "start  a  ghost"  or  rouse  a 
goblin,  when  there  happens  to  be  any  necessity  for 
such  an  exertion;  but  we  generally  are  content  with 
having  recourse  to  dreams,  after  having  made  the  neces- 
sary preparations. 

By  this  last  method  we  made  some  highly  interesting 
discoveries  concerning  our  Savage,  as  will  be  seen  in 
the  sequel. 

We  fasted  and  prayed.  We  took  an  emetic,  and 
performed  the  necessary  ablutions  in  the  Schuylkill:  and 


THE    SAVAGE.  19 

then,  having  burned  a  few  leaves  of  tobacco  to  propi- 
tiate the  spirits  of  the  air,  we  lay  down  and  slept.  In 
our  dream,  a  terrific  form  made  its  appearance.  We 
cannot  undertake  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  public, 
as  to  the  being  that  we  saw  in  our  dream;  for  of  that 
we  are  ignorant.  We  at  first  supposed  it  to  be  the  devil 
of  the  civilized  world,  as  he  certainly  wore  on  his  head 
something  that  had  the  semblance  of  horns:  but,  upon 
the  closest  inspection,  we  could  perceive  nothing  that 
had  the  appearance  of  a  cloven  foot.  Upon  the  whole, 
we  are  led  to  conclude  that  it  must  have  been  some 
benignant  spirit;  as  no  evil  one  would,  we  believe,  ven- 
ture to  approach  us  in  our  purified  state.  He  stalked 
up  with  the  greatest  dignity.  His  countenance  bore  the 
impression  of  profound  wisdom,  but  mixed  with  some- 
thing that  had  the  appearance  of  contempt  for  every 
thing  earthly. 

We  demanded  what  the  literati  of  the  age  thought  of 
our  Savage. 

The  literati  of  the  age!  repeated  he,  smiling;  not 
many  of  them  have  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  becoming 
acquainted  with  your  Savage;  and  but  few  of  them  ever 
will.  Can  they  whose  heads  are  above  the  clouds  observe 
the  motions  of  an  ant  upon  a  hillock  ?  But  there  are  se- 
veral other  descriptions  of  readers  who  are  not  a  little 
out  of  humor  with  the  beginning  you  have  made. 

I  will  give  you  some  account  of  them,  and  the  recep- 
tion your  Savage  is  likely  to  meet  with  from  them. 

Old  Jonathan  Longhead,  the  other  dajr,took  up  your 
duodecimo  and  read  a  few  minutes.  He  then  laid  it 
down,  lighted  a  segar,  and  leaned  back  upon  his  chair 
immersed  in  deep  thought.  After  remaining  in  this  at- 
titude for  five  minutes, he  drew  the  segar  from  his  mouth, 
and  blowing  forth  the  smoke  with  the  greatest  delibera- 
tion, he  uttered  the  following  oracle,  "Atheistical  and 
deistical."  Should  they  raise  the  cry  of  mad  dog  against 
you,  you  had  better  be  a  dog  in  reality. 

Billy  Bluster  and  a  few  of  his  associates  were  mighti- 
ly taken  with  the  title  of  your  paper.     "The  Savage ! 


20  THE    SAVAGE. 

Damn  me,  Tom!  this  will  be  a  hell  of  a  thundering  pa- 
per,hey  ?  Then  we  shall  have  for  a  frontispiece  a  bloody 
savage  with  a  ferocious  countenance,  brandishing  his 
tomahawk  and  scalping  knife — ah!  a  devil  of  a  fine 
thing!  Then,  it  will  be  filled  with  drinking  songs  and 
hellish  finestories.  We'll  laugh,  like  damnation,heyO!" 

"Do  you  not  suppose,  Piomingo,  that  these  brave  boys 
were  sadly  disappointed  by  the  appearance  of  your 
sweetly  moving  peaceable  Savage?  Were  you  capable 
of  producing  pieces  of  the  most  finished  composition, 
do  you  suppose  that  they  would  be  relished  by  these 
children  of  Comus?  Do  you  suppose  that  your  delicate 
irony  or  classical  allusions  can  excite  a  roar  of  laughter 
over  the  bowl,  or  call  forth  the  plaudits  of  the  ground- 
lings?  Sooner  will  you  charm  the  deaf  adder:  sooner 
will  the  beasts  of  the  forest  dance  to  your  music,  or 
cities  ascend  to  the  sound  of  your  lyre!  No,  no  Piomin- 
go, if  you  be  disposed  to  please  these  jovial  souls,  you 
must  have  recourse  to  Joe  Miller's  Jest-book  and  the 
adventures  of  Fanny  Hill.  Would  you  select  some  en- 
tertaining stories  from  the  last  mentioned  work,  for  the 
edification  of  your  aunt  Jenny,  I  have  no  doubt  but  she 
would  procure,  for  your  paper,  a  hundred  subscribers. 

Could  you  hire  an  enterprising  genius  to  skulk  about 
the  city,  and  see  what  married  men  frequent  the  houses 
of  pollution — what  heads  of  families  have  been  known 
to  kiss  pretty  chambermaids — what  modish  ladies  have 
been  surprised  in  delicate  situations — what  rosy  misses 
have  retired  to  the  country  on  account  of  indisposition 
— what  old  men  have  young  wives — who  were  seen 
abroad  at  unseasonable  hours,orin  equivocal  places, &c. 
&c.  &c.  I  say,  if  you  procure  an  agent  to  collect  an- 
ecdotes of  this  description,  and  mix  them  up  with  sly 
hints  and  double  entendres,  ornamented  with  a  suffi- 
ciency of  A.s,  Z.s,  dashes,  stars,  italics,  and  double 
pica,  take  my  word  for  it,  there  is  no  paper  in  the  Uni- 
ted States  will  have  so  extensive  a  circulation  as  yours. 

As  soon  as  the  welcome  carrier  throws  in  the  Savage, 
the  scandal-loving  dame,  with  watering  teeth,  will  has- 


THE    SAVAGE.  21 

ten  to  draw  down  her  spectacles  from  her  withered 
forehead,  adjust  them  on  her  sharp  pointed  nose,  and 
devour  the  luscious  intelligence  with  more  avidity  than 
Amelia  Wilhelmina  Carolina  did  the  contents  of  the 
last  novel.  And  all  the  little  tattling  tea-drinking 
misses  will  crowd  round  the  old  lady's  chair  on  their 
knees,  and  stretch  their  pretty  necks,  open  their  love- 
inspiring  eyes  and  kiss-courting  mouths,  to  catch — some, 
a  part  of  a  line,  and  others,  a  broken  end  of  a  sen- 
tence:— while  the  old  gentleman  hangs  over  their 
shoulders  grinning  a  smile  of  complacency." 

What, can  a  savage  stoop  to  such  baseness?  Shall  a 
headman  and  warrior  of  the  Muscogulgee  confederacy 
construct  and  keep  in  repair  a  public  sewer  to  convey 
into  the  world  all  the  abomination,  corruption,  and  filth, 
of  a  populous  city?  Shall  he  become  common  pimp  to 
all  the  base  propensities  of  human  nature?  When  he 
shall  act  thus, 

"Be  ready  Gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts. 
Dash  him  to  pieces!" — 


ESQUIRE 


Most  of  the  Indians  who  live  near  the  frontiers  of 
the  United  States  have  become  debased  and  corrupted 
by  theirintercourse  with  the  descendents  of  Europeans. 
They  are  contaminated  with  the  vices  and  infected 
with  the  diseases  of  civilized  nations.  They  have  for- 
gotten the  heroic  exploits  of  their  warlike  ancestors. 
They  join  no  more  in  the  war  dance,  nor  raise  the  song 
of  victory  and  triumph.  They  have  lost  all  national 
pride  and  dignity  of  character;  and  are  to  be  seen,  in 
a  state  of  beastly  intoxication,  wallowing  in  the  streets 
of  your  frontier  villages. 

These  degraded  wretches,  when  they  come  among 
you,  are  fond  of  adorning  themselves  with  the  cocked 
hat,  or  cast  off  coat  of  some  military  officer.  You  laugh 


22  THE   SAVAGE. 

at  their  childish  folly;  and  you  are  right  in  so  doing: 
for  they  deserve  both  ridicule  and  contempt. 

But  what  must  be  said  of  the  enlightcnzd  citizens  of 
an  illustrious  republic,  who  are  proud  to  decorate  them- 
selves with  the  shreds  and  patches  torn  from  the  many- 
colored  and  motheaten  coat  of  feudal  aristocracy? — 
They  do  not  attempt  to  manufacture  a  garment  for 
themselves,  but  they  search  the  ditches  and  alleys  and 
dunghills  of  corruption,  for  rags  and  tatters,  wherewith 
they  ornament  themselves,  and  then  strut  about  with 
the  most  disgusting  pomposity.  These  people  were 
once  slaves,  but  became  unruly,  and,  by  a  successful  ex- 
ertion of  their  powers,  emancipated  themselves:  but  it 
appears  that  they  were  unfit  for  freedom,  as  they  still 
continue  to  be  proud  of  the  livery  which  they  wore 
when  in  a  state  of  servitude.  They  prate  much  about 
the  dignity  and  perfectibility  of  man;  but,  an  attentive 
observer  may  still  perceive  that  they  hanker  after  the 
golden  trappings  of  servitude. 

If  they  must  have  titles  of  dignity,  why  do  they  not 
select  the  most  honorable?  They  have  as  good  a  right 
to  be  dukes,  marquises,  and  earls,  as  to  be  esquires. — 
"His  Grace,  the  Duke  of  Gooseland"  would  sound  much 
better  than  "the  honorable  John  Dolt,  esquire."  Why 
should  they  address  one  of  their  governors,  with  the 
contemptible  appellation  of  "Excellency,"  when  there 
are  such  fine  highsounding  words  in  the  language  as 
"Majesty," "Serenity," "Sublimity?"  Why  should  they 
talk  of  his  "honor  the  judge,"  when  they  might  make 
use  of  the  dignified  appellation  of  "Lord  Chief  Justice 
of  the  Supreme  Court?"  Why  should  members  of  the 
legislatures  be  described  only  as  "honorable,"  when 
there  could  be  added  many  more  adjectives  equally 
expressive  of  their  characters:  such  as  "Sapient,  Intel- 
ligent, Profound;"  and  they  might  be  addressed  with 
great  propriety  as  "High  and  Mighty  Lords?"  Why 
should  justices  of  the  peace,  aldermen,  &c.  be  only 
honored  with  the  title  of  "worshipful,"  when  we  could 


THE    SAVAGE.  23 

i>ronoune  with  such  sweetness  and  dignity, "His  Serene 
Ugliness,  Alderman  Clodhopper;  and  "His  Adorable 
Greatness,  Justice  Numskull  V  Why  should  the  clergy 
only  be  known  by  the  appellation  "reverend,"  when 
there  are  such  words  in  use  as  "The  Most  Holy  Father 
in  God,  Christopher  Overgood?" 

When  Constantine,  the  great,  first  christianized  the 
Roman  empire,  he  invented  a  long  string  of  delectable 
titles.  An  account  of  them  may  be  seen  in  Gibbon's 
Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  We  would 
advise  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  (as  they  have 
full  right  to  choose  what  titles  they  please  in  this  land 
of  liberty)  to  adopt  the  ingenious  scale  of  titles  laid 
down  by  Constantine;  or  if  these  should  not  appear 
sufficiently  dignified,  they  may  refer  to  the  kingdoms  of 
the  east,  and  select  some  of  the  most  sonorous,  such  as, 
Holy  Son  of  Heaven,  Disposer  of  Kingdoms,  Brother 
of  the  Sun  and  Moon,  &c. 

If  you  must  adorn  yourselves  with  borrowed  feathers, 
your  good  taste  might  lead  you  to  choose  those  of  the 
peacock,  the  ostrich,  and  the  bird  of  paradise,  in  pre- 
ference to  those  of  the  owl,  the  buzzard,  and  the  crane. 
The  English  language  is  copious.  Select  the  most  har- 
monious and  splendid  designations;  but  do  it  boldly. 
Prepare  provisions  for  yourselves.  Why  should  you  lick 
up  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  table  of  your  former 
master! 

What  ridiculous  consequence  a  plain  republican  im- 
mediately assumes  upon  finding  himself  addressed  by 
the  title  of  esquire !  He  soon  conceives  that  he  feels  some- 
thing like  noble  blood  coursing  up  and  down  through 
his  veins!  He  thinks  it  very  possible  that  he  may  have 
sprung  from  some  younger  son  of  a  younger  brother  of 
some  noble  house.  Some  of  his  ancestors  may  have 
lived  in  some  dignified  family,  as  butlers,  or  house  keep- 
ers, or  some  other  way.  Sometimes  he  even  natters 
himself  that  certain  illegitimate  sprinklings  of  blood 
royal  may  have  ennobled  the  plebian  current  that  runs 
in  his  veins.     He  begins  to  6tudy  the  nature  of  his  name, 


24 


THE    SAVAGE. 


decipher  its  etymology,  and  claim  kindred  with  every 
family  who  may  have  borne  the  same  appellation. 

Would  it  not  be  better  for  some  of  these  ambitious 
mortals  to  endeavor  to  convert  their  own  name  into  a 
title  of  dignity  than  to  be  ambitious  of  usurping  a  bar- 
barous distinction,  to  which  they  have  no  claim.  Cesar 
was  the  name  of  a  man,  but  became  in  time  a  title  of 
the  most  dignified  nature.  Who  knows  but  some  en- 
terprising genius  may  spring  up  in  the  western  world 
and  convert  his  name  into  a  title  that  will  be  remem- 
bered for  ever. 

The  Indians  give  names  to  their  children  in  infancy; 
hut  that  Indian  would  sink  into  absolute  contempt,  who 
should  not  acquire,  to  himself,  a  new  name,  by  his  success 
in  hunting  or  his  exploits  in  war.  Now,  would  the  po- 
lished citizens  of  the  United  States  condescend  to  learn 
something  useful  from  the  savage  inhabitants  of  the 
wilderness,  we  think  they  might  adopt  this  custom  with 
the  greatest  propriety.  Let  every  man  be  reckoned 
utterly  contemptible  who  shall  not  acquire  a  new  name 
before  he  be  thirty  years  of  age. 

If  he  have  performed  any  remarkable  action,  let  his 
name  be  taken  from  that.  If  he  have  not  at  all  distin- 
guished himself  by  any  single  exploit,  it  is  probable 
that  there  will  be  discoverable  some  prominent  traits  in 
his  character,  from  which  he  may  be  designated.  The 
new  appellation  would  become  a  title  of  honor  to  the 
virtuous,  and  a  mark  of  approbrium  and  disgrace  to  the 
vitious. 

Exempli  gratia:  If  a  man  discovered  a  great  inclina- 
tion to  indulge  in  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  and  this 
propensity  became  the  leading  trait  in  his  character, 
we  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be  denominated 
"The  Glutton."  Such  should  be  the  name  of  the  man 
who  may  be  said  "to  live  that  he  may  eat."  But  should  the 
glutton  discover  an  extensive  acquaintance  with  the 
art  of  preparing  viands,  we  think  he  ought  to  be  hon- 
ored with  the  appellation  of  "Cook."  This  title  should 
be  given  to  those  gentlemen  who  distinguish  themselves 


THE    SAVAGE.  25 

by  learned  disquisitions  on  the  nature  of  custard,  or  can 
enumerate  the  ingredients  that  enter  into  the  composi- 
tion of  a  pudding.  Adepts  in  the  science  of  preparing 
turtle  soup,  and  those  whose  intelligence  enables  them 
to  descant  learnedly  on  the  manner  of  giving  to  oysters 
the  most  exquisite  flavor,  should  likewise  be  distin- 
guished by  the  same  designation. 

If  such  a  plan  as  this  were  adopted,  instead  of  the 
unmeaning  names  now  in  use,  we  should  hear  of 
"Drunkard,"  "Swindler,"  "Romancer,"  &c.  There 
might  likewise  be  established,  under  the  superinten- 
dence of  government,  a  college  of  heralds  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  appropriate  ensigns  armorial  to  every 
one,  on  the  completion  of  his  thirtieth  year;  but,  nt 
quid  nimis. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  III. 
EFFECTS   OF  CIVILIZATION. 

Shall  your  cooks  and  your  waiters,  your  carters  and 
your  ditchers,  be  accounted  equally  civilized  with  your- 
selves? Shall  they  who  watch  the  look,  and  tremble  at 
the  frown,  of  a  superior,  be  allowed  to  possess  delicacy 
of  sentiment  and  dignity  of  character?  No:  they  are 
deprived  of  all  personal  consequence  in  society.  Their 
own  interest  is  annihilated.  They  are  merely  a  ne- 
cessary part  of  the  luxurious  establishment  of  their 
principal. 

We  passed  by  the  residence  of  Polydore.  We  saw 
his  gorgeous  palace  and  widely  extended  fields.  We  ex- 
amined his  gardens,  his  park,  his  orchards;  and  were 
struck  with  astonishment  at  the  splendor  of  his  estab- 
lishment. And  is  this  all,  we  inquired,  designed  for  the 
accommodation  of  one  man?  Can  one  creature, not  six 
feet  high,  occupy  all  these  splendid  apartments?  Behold 
the  flocks  and  herds  and  fields  of  corn!  can  all  these 
be  necessary  for  the  sustenance  of  one?  But  if  all  this 
be  the  product  of  his  own  labor,  he  has  full  liberty  to 
C 


26  THE    SAVAGE. 

enjoy  it.  Polydore  must  be  a  giant.  Did  he  pile  up  these 
massy  stones,  and  erect  these  ponderous  buildings?  Did 
he  subdue  the  lordly  forest,  and  cover  the  fields  with 
waving  grain?  No:  Polydore  has  done  nothing.  He 
owes  all  this  to  the  labor  of  others.  But  how  then,  we 
inquired  with  amazement,  did  Polydore  gain  this  ascen- 
dency over  others?  How  did  he  compel  his  fellows  to 
cultivate  his  fields,  or  labor  in  his  ditches?  Polydore  did 
not  compel  them:  they  were  compelled  by  their  neces- 
sities. A  fortunate  concurrence  of  circumstances,  and 
the  laws  of  the  country,  have  made  Polydore  rich:  but 
these  men  are  poor.  A  small  portion  of  the  product  of 
their  labor  goes  to  the  support  of  themselves  and  their 
families;  but  the  far  greater  part  is  applied  to  the  ag- 
grandizement of  Polydore's  establishment.  And  as  this 
aggrandizement  increases,  in  like  manner  increases  his 
ascendency  over  others. 

We  saw  through  the  whole  in  a  moment.  It  is  there- 
fore absolutely  necessary  that  every  rich  man  should  be 
surrounded  by  others  more  indigent  than  himself.  If  it 
were  otherwise,  in  what  manner  would  he  induce  them 
to  supply  his  factitious  wants,  or  gratify  his  luxurious 
snclinations?  Cottages, then,  must  necessarily  be  found 
in  the  vicinity  of  palaces:  and  lordly  cities  must  be  sur- 
rounded by  suburbs  of  wretchedness!  Sordiness  is  the 
offspring  of  splendor;  and  luxury  is  the  parent  of  want. 
Civilization  consists  in  the  refinement  of  a  few,  and  the 
barbarism  and  baseness  of  many. 

As  the  grandeur  of  any  establishment  is  augmented, 
servile  and  base  offices  are  multiplied.  Poverty  and 
baseness  must  be  united  in  the  same  person  in  order  to 
qualify  him  for  such  situations.  Who  fill  servile  and  low 
employments  in  your  Atlantic  cities?  There  are  not 
American  minds  to  be  found  sufficiently  degraded  for 
these  contemptible  occupations.  You  find  it  necessary 
to  have  recourse  to  the  more  highly  polished  nations  of 
Europe  for  suitable  drudges  to  sweep  your  streets  and 
remove  nuisances,  to  stand  behind  your  carriages  and 
perform  degrading  duties  about  your  persons. 


THE    SAVAGE.  27 

Civilized  Europeans,  when  they  visit  your  country, 
complain  loudly,  of  your  babarism.  You  are  little  bet- 
ter, in  their  estimation,  than  the  savages  of  the  wilder- 
ness. They  cannot  meet  with  that  obsequiousness  and 
servility  which  is  necessary  to  their  happiness.  They 
complain,  most  dolelfully,  of  the  impertinence  of  their 
servants,  and,  indeed,  of  the  difficulty  of  procuring  any 
one  sufficiently  qualified  for  the  situation  of  a  menial. 
You  frequently  blush  for  the  rudeness  and  barbarity  of 
your  countrymen,  when  you  listen  to  these  complaints 
of  your  polished  visitants;  but  do  not  despair.  Theseeds 
are  sown:  and  the  growth  will  be  rapid.  The  causes 
have  begun  to  operate,  and  the  effects  to  be  seen.  There 
will  soon  be  a  sufficiency  of  indigence  and  poverty  of 
spirits  to  make  servants  obsequious,  and  multiply  the 
number  of  domestics.  Let  splendor,  refinement,  and 
luxury,  triumph;  and  we  promise  that  sordiness,  base- 
ness, and  misery,  will  walk  in  their  train. 

Man  was  designed  by  nature  to  cultivate  the  fields, 
or  roam  in  the  woods.  He  has  sufficient  strength  to  do 
every  thing  for  himself  that  is  necessary  to  be  done.  He 
can  erect  a  hut  of  poles  and  cover  it  with  bark  or  skins- 
without  the  assistance  of  another.  A  small  portion  of 
his  time  procures  clothing  and  food;  and  the  remainder 
is  devoted  to  amusement  and  rest.  The  moment  you 
leave  tiiis  point,  your  destination  is  certain,  though  your 
progress  may  be  slow.  [7b  be  continued.] 


VANITY 


Some  ingenious  author  has  run  a  parallel  between 
pride  and  vanity.  The  proud  man,  says  he,  reposes, 
with  dignified  confidence,  on  the  superiority  of  his  own 
mind;  but  the  vain  man  depends  on  the  fluctuating 
opinions  of  the  world.  The  vain  man  values  himself  for 
his  personal  qualifications,  as  long  as  they  continue 
fashionable:  but  the  moment  they  cease  to  be  admired 
by  others,  they  sink  also  in  his  own  estimation. 


28 


THE    SAVAGE 


Little  Vapid  is  one  of  the  vainest  men  in  existence: 
and  what  can  give  importance  to  little  Vapid?  His  fea- 
tures are  diminutive,  and  his  person  contemptible. 

Vapid  values  himself  on  the  cleanness  and  neatness 
of  his  dress.  A  speck  of  dirt  on  his  white  pantaloons 
would  throw  him  into  an  agony  of  unutterable  distress. 
His  shoes  must  shine  with  glossy  blacking,  and  his  coat 
be  brushed  with  the  utmost  care,  before  he  will  venture 
out  of  the  house.  He  spends  an  hour  in  adjusting  his 
cravat,  and  two  hours  in  giving  the  hair  on  his  silly,  in- 
significant head  the  proper  direction.  One  half  of  his 
time  is  spent  in  scrubbing  his  teeth  and  arching  his  eye- 
brows. And  when  he  grasps  his  little  cane,  and  hops 
into  the  street,  with  every  plait  in  proper  order,  and 
the  indispensable  grimace  on  his  countenance,  one 
wrould  suppose  that  he  had  broken  loose  from  imprison- 
ment in  a  bandbox. 

Fan  him  gently  ye  zephyrs!  Ye  northern  blasts,  dis- 
compose not  the  folds  of  his  garment !  Ye  sylphs,  watch 
over  his  white  pantaloons,  when  he  skips  over  the  gut- 
ters! But  may  his  guardian  angel  protect  him,  should 
he  encounter  a  dray! 

Vapid  is  not  proud:  he  sets  no  value  on  the  intrinsic 
excellence  of  any  quality  he  possesses:  his  happiness 
depends  on  the  breath  of  mortals  as  contemptible  as 
himself. 


THE  HILL  OF  LIFE. 

Armine  became  acquainted  with  his  own  existence  in 
the  valley  of  Childhood.  His  couch  was  composed  of 
roses,  and  canopied  over  by  the  boughs  of  the  orange 
and  the  myrtle.  Bubbling  springs  were  seen  among  the 
flowers,  and  the  melody  of  birds  was  heard  amid  the 
branches.  The  Hill  of  Life  appeared  before  him,  and 
he  set  his  face  toward  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  The 
ascent  is  known  by  the  name  of  Youth :  it  was  easy  and 
delightful.     A  female  form  of  the  most  angelic  appear- 


THE   SAVAGE. 

mice  was  his  constant  companion:  her  name  was  Hope. 
She  strewed  his  path  with  flowers:  and  her  presence 
shed  abroad  the  sunshine  of  cheerfulness  and  joy. — 
She  led  him  forward  by  the  hand:  and  distant- objects, 
when  pointed  out  by  her  finger,  assumed  a  supernatural 
and  celestial  brilliancy.  When  he  lay  down  to  repose, 
poppies  were  strewed  on  his  pillow  5  and  when  he  awoke, 
his  heavenly  companion  entranced  his  eyes  with  her 
magical  mirror  of  ravishing  delights.  Sometimes  he 
turned  aside  into  the  gardens  of  pleasure,  and  bathed 
in  the  rivers  of  sensual  delight;  but  when  he  heard  at  a 
distance  the  loud  but  mellow  voice  of  the  trumpet  of 
Fame,  which  sounded  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  he 
broke  loose  from  the  allurements  of  pleasure,  determined 
to  acquire  more  substantial  bliss,  by  heroic  exertions. 

When  he  had  gained  the  last  stages  of  the  ascent,  he 
was  met  by  a  restless  being,  of  a  dark  and  forbidding 
countenance;  her  name  was  Care.  She  pressed  him 
into  her  company,  and  attempted  to  engross  his  atten- 
tion. But  her  familiar  approaches  were  forbidden  by 
Hope;  and  she  contented  herself  with  fliting  about  in 
his  view  at  a  distance. 

The  summit  of  the  mountain  is  an  elevated  plain, 
known  by  the  name  of  Manhood.  It  commands  an  ex- 
tensive prospect  on  every  side;  but  these  views  are  not 
all  equally  delightful.  When  you  sfand  on  the  moun- 
tain and  cast  your  eyes  backward  to  the  valley  of  Child- 
hood, the  mind  is  overpowered  by  conflicting  emotions. 
You  review  with  delight  the  wanderings  of  infancy  in 
the  valley  of  roses;  but  this  enjoyment  is  mixed  with 
an  inexpressible  sentiment  of  sorrow  and  regret:  the 
thought  of  joys  never  to  be  repeated,  and  of  pleasures 
forever  gone! 

The  ascent  of  Youth  is  viewed  still  with  less  com- 
placency. The  aberrations,  in  this  part  of  the  journey, 
give  to  the  prospect  a  bitterness  and  gloom  that  cloud 
the  enjoyment.  "Sweet  humble  vale!"  said  Armine, 
looking  through  the  long  vista  of  Youth,  to  the  com- 
mencement of  his  journey,  "Sweet  humble  vale!  your 
C2 


30  THE    SAVAGE. 

delights  are  forever  vanished !  jour  pleasures  can  never 
return ! 

Having  thus  said,  he  turned  himself  around  to  take  a 
view  of  *ihe  elevated  plain  on  which  he  stood.  The 
face  of  the  country  was  various:  some  parts  were  covered 
with  thistles  and  thorns;  and  others  were  crowned  with 
proud  forests  of  oak,  and  groves  of  towering  poplars. 
In  some  parts  were  to  be  seen  "cloud-capt  towers  and 
gorgeous  palaces;"  and  in  others,  the  sordid  and  misera- 
ble "huts  of  cheerless  poverty.'1  Some  of  the  inhabitants 
build  houses  of  marble,  as  though  their  residence  in  the 
place  were  never  to  have  an  end;  while  multitudes  are 
crowded  in  cottages  of  clay.  Dark  clouds  hang  con- 
tinually over  the  mountain:  some  contemplate  their  ap- 
pearance with  calmness,  but  others  view  them  with  hor- 
ror and  dismay. 

A  philosopher,  who  sat,  with  the  utmost  composure, 
on  the  point  of  a  rock,  and  viewed  the  shifting  of  the 
clouds  through  a  perspective,  beckoned  Armine  to  ap- 
proach.    He  obeyed.     "1  perceive,"  said  the  philoso- 
pher, "by  your  countenance,  that  you  have  lately  gained 
the  summit  of  the  mountain."  Armine  assented.  "Well," 
continued  the  sage,  "you  will  remain  here  awhile:  I 
have,  for  my  part,  been  many  years  a  resident  on  this 
plain;  and  must  speedily  descend  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hill.     1  obserVed  you,  just  now,  looking  back  on  the 
valley  of  Childhood;  have  you. any  objection  to  take  a 
view  of  the  opposite  descent?"     Armine  was  silent. — 
The  philosopher  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to 
the  brow   of  the   hill.     "The   declivity,"  said  he,  "as 
you  may  perceive,  is  much  greater  on  this  side  than  on 
the  other:  it  is  called  the  Decline  of  Life..   It  has  but 
a  dreary  appearance.     The  descent  is  rapid  into  the 
valley  of  Old  Age:  .and  in  that  valley,  rolls  the  black, 
sluggish,  and  bottomless  River  of  Death."    Having  thus 
spoken,  he  sighed,  and  immediately  began  to  descend. 
Armine  called  after  him  with  a  loud  voice,  saying,  "is 
the  river  without  a  shore  ?     Are  there  no  green  fields  on 
the  other  side,  where  a  weary  traveller  may  find  lasting 


THE    SAVAGE.  31 

repose?''  The  philosopher  turned  round,  and  looked 
upon  Armine.  There  was  an  expression  of  sadness  up- 
on his  countenance.  "No  traveller  has  returned,"  said 
he,  "to  give  us  any  intelligence.  There  is,  without 
doubt,  a  country  on  the  other  side  of  the  water:  I  have 
had  a  glimpse  of  it  myself;  but  those  who  are  swallowed 
up  by  the  River  of  Death,  are,  in  all  probability,  carried 
by  the  rapidity  of  the  current  into  the  Dead  Sea  of 
eternal  oblivion."  Having  thus  said,  he  pursued  his 
way  down  the  mountain.  Armine  observed  him,  for 
some  time,  in  his  descent;  and  took  notice  that,  having 
proceeded  a  little  way,  he  found  a  green  place  on  the 
side  of  the  hill  where  there  was  a  spring  of  water. — 
Having  refreshed  himself,  he  sat  down  to  rest;  and  im- 
mediately began  to  examine  the  nature  of  the  grass, 
which  was  the  production  of  so  sterile  a  soil.  He  con- 
tinued this  employment  for  some  time,  and  then  took  out 
his  pocket  perspective,  and  observed  the  movement  of 
the  clouds,  with  as  much  composure  as  he  had  formerly 
done  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  "Wonderful 
elasticity  of  the  human  mind!"  exclaimed  Armine,  as 
he  turned  round  from  the  contemplation  of  the  Decline 
of  Life,  "wonderful  elasticity  of  the  human  mind,  which 
causes  it  to  yield  to  the  pressure  of  circumstances! — 
which  enables  it  to  support  with  tranquillity  the  greatest 
possible  misfortunes!" 

Care  now  became  the  constant  companion  of  Ar- 
mine, though  he  was  still  accompanied  by  Hope.  Hope 
had  lost  a  great  part  of  her  magical  power,  but  still  was 
able  to  soften  the  influence  of  Care,  and  calm  the  occa- 
sional perturbations  of  his  mind.  He  adopted  various 
schemes  for  passing  the  time  of  his  continuance  on  the 
mount;  but  the  issue  of  every  one  was  the  same — dis- 
appointment. Sometimes  he  joined  the  votaries  of 
pleasure;  and  sometimes,  the  lovers  of  wisdom.  Plea- 
sure ended  in  smoke;  and  knowledge  wrasthe  parent  of 
despair.  Sometimes  he  employed  himself  in  gathering 
together  the  glittering  stones  that  may  be  found  on  the 
summit  of  the  mountain:  but  the  exertion,  necessary  in 


32  THE    SAVAGE. 

this  contemptible  pursuit,  was  painful  in  the  extreme. 
He  then  endeavored  to  derive  amusement  from  dispers- 
ing abroad  what  he  had  collected  together:  and  the 
issue  of  the  whole  was  "vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit."* 

The  Temple  of  Fame  stood  on  a  rugged  promontory 
of  the  mountain,  which  was  suspended  over  the  black 
and  putrid  waters  of  Infamy.  The  building  was  mag- 
nificent beyond  description;  its  summit  was  hid  in  the 
clouds.  The  voice  of  the  goddess  was  heard  from  the 
temple,  inviting  the  approaches  of  all;  but  the  attempt 
to  obey  the  invitation  was  attended  with  danger.  Every 
one  was  desirous  to  enter,  in  order  to  leave  some  memo- 
rial of  having  performed  the  journey  of  life;  but  few, 
very  few,  were  found  able  to  surmount  the  obstacles 
which  impeded  the  entrance.  The  daring  adventurer, 
whose  heart  beat  high  with  the  love  of  glory,  pressed 
forward  through  dangers  of  every  description.  Fright- 
ful rocks  and  yawning  caverns,  giants  of  tremendous 
dimensions,  and  spectres  of  terrific  forms,  opposed  his 
progress.  Envy,  Malice,  Hatred,  Anger,  Slander,  Re- 
venge, and  a  thousand  others,  armed  with  "fire-brands, 
arrows,  and  death,"  stood  in  array  against  him.  The 
hero  who  broke  through  their  ranks  and  entered  the 
temple  covered  with  blood  was  received  with  shouts  of 
joy  and  the  sound  of  the  trumpet. 

Armine  essayed  to  enter:  but  Poverty,  a  gaunt  and 
hagard  monster,  effectually  baffled  every  attempt,  and 
drove  him  away  from  the  precincts  of  the  building. — • 
Here  he  was  seized  by  Disease,  who  hurried  him  away 
to  the  descent  of  the  mountain. 

As  he  passed  down  the  Decline  of  Life,  every  thing 
wore  a  gloom  of  despondence.  Dark  clouds  hung 
over  his  head;  and  nothing  was  heard  but  the  screaming 
of  the  raven  from  the  "lightning-blasted  oak,"  and  the 
hooting  of  the  owl  from  the  mouldering  turret.  He 
entered  the  valley  of  Old  Age.  The  air  became  dark. 
The  funeral  cypress  overshadowed  his  path. 

Weary  and  dejected,  he  tottered  along,  until,  ere  he 
was  aware,  he  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  River.  A  thick 


THE     SAVAGE.  33 

fog,  an  everlasting  cloud,  rested  on  the  face  of  the  wa- 
ters. Nothing  was  to  be  seen.  Nothing  was  to  be 
heard.  It  was  the  reign  of  Darkness,  Silence,  Inanity, 
Death.  While  he  yet  lingered,  he  received  a  last  visit 
from  the  companion  of  his  youth.  Hope  appeared, 
arrayed  in  a  robe  of  resplendent  whiteness.  She  di- 
rected her  hand  toward  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 
The  clouds  broke  away  for  a  moment.  He  had,  or 
fancied  he  had,  a  glimpse  of  a  brighter  region.  Time 
hurried  him  into  the  stream;  and  he  was  heard  of  no 
more. 


REMONSTRANCE  OF  THE  LETTER  II. 

The  letter  h  begs  leave  to  represent  to  Piomingo  that 
he  labors  under  many  heavy  and  intolerable  grievances, 
He  has  suffered  injustice  both  from  the  ancients  and 
moderns,  the  learned  and  unlearned. 

Grammarians  have  long  contended  that  he  is  no  let- 
ter; that  he  is  merely  a  "hard  breathing  before  a  word 
or  syllable."  They  never  explain  themselves  fully  on 
this  subject;  and  it  is  hard  to  find  out  what  they  mean 
by  the  assertion.  One  of  their  leaders.has,  indeed,  ob- 
served that  h  requires  no  conformation  of  the  organs  of 
speech ;  and  therefore  cannot  be  a  letter.  This  is  involv- 
ing the  matter  in  "clouds  of  thick  darkness."  What 
are  the  organs  of  speech?  Is  the  windpipe  included  in 
the  number?  But,  without  entering  into  any  niceties  on 
the  subject,  it  is  simply  demanded,  Can  they  give  this 
"hard  breathing  before  a  word  or  syllable,"  without 
making  any  use  of  the  organs  of  speech?  When  the 
organs  of  speech  are  at  rest,  the  mouth  must  be  neces- 
sarily closed.  Now,  let  them  pronounce  any  word,  in 
which  h  is  sounded,  without  opening  the  mouth  until 
they  have  made  this  "hard  breathing:"  and  the  point 
will  be  conceded. 

But  h  is  not  disposed  to  contend  for  a  name.  Let  him 
be  possessed  of  the  substance,  and  he  will  never  declare 


34  THE    SAVAGE. 

war  for  the  shadow.  Let  him  enjoy  every  right,  power 
and  emolument,  belonging  to  a  letter;  and  they  are 
welcome  to  call  him  a  "hard  breathing"  as  long  as  they 
please. 

At  present,  he  humbly  solicits  that  he  may  be  relieved, 
by  the  interposition  of  Piomingo,  from  the  galling  op- 
pression and  intolerable  injustice  he  suffers  from  the 
"organs  of  speech"  of  the  polished  inhabitants  of  the 
city  of  Philadelphia.  No  people  are  more  ready  to 
complain,  of  any  real  or  imaginary  grievance, than  the 
citizens  above  mentioned;  yet  they  forget  the  golden 
rule,  of  doing  to  others,  as  they  would  that  others  should 
do  unto  them,  when  they  deprive  your  remonstrant  of 
his  undoubted  right  and  inheritance. 

It  has  long  been  known  to  all  the  world,  that,  many 
years  ago,  w  usurped  the  station  of  A,  in  such  words  as, 
when,  where,  what,  &c.  which  ought  to  be  written  hwen, 
hwere,  hwat,  &c.  H,  at  first,  felt  indignant  at  this  treat- 
ment; but,  as  a  long  continued  usurpation  is  said  to  con- 
fer a  legitimate  right,  he  was,  at  last,  induced  to  yield 
the  precedency  in  these  words,  as  he  was  assured  that  he 
would  lose  none  of  the  power  by  his  acquiescence.  It 
was  represented  to  him,  that  the  king  of  Great  Britain 
had  long  used  the  title  of  king  of  France  without  claim- 
ing the  least  right  to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  that  king- 
dom; that  the  emperor  of  China  was  styled  "sole  go- 
vernor of  the  earth,"  without  other  princes  supposing 
that  their  sovereignty  was  affected  by  this  arrogant  as- 
sumption. These,  and  various  other  things,  were  men- 
tioned to  prove  that  the  condescension  of  h,  in  this 
particular,  was  nothing  remarkable. 

But  h  observes,  with  infinite  dissatisfaction,  that  his 
peaceable  disposition  has  led  mankind  to  suppose  that 
he  will  submit  to  every  species  of  injustice  that  may  be 
inflicted  by  the  world.  While  he  only  thought  that  he 
was  yielding  precedence  to  another  letter,  he  finds  that 
his  undoubted  and  unalienable  rights,  privileges,  and 
powers,  have  been  suppressed  and  destroyed.  Who  now 
can  hear  any  thing  of  the  sound  of  h  in  a  numerous 


THE    SAVAGE.  35 

class  of  words  when  pronounced  by  a  Philadelphian? 
The  words  what,  when,  where,  wheel,  which,  wharf,  and  a 
hundred  others,  are  pronounced  by  the  unlearned,  and 
alas!  by  the  learned,  exactly  thus,  wat,  wen,  were,  weel, 
witch,  warf,  &c. 

The  letter  h  begs  leave  further  to  represent  that,  in- 
dependent of  any  personal  considerations,  this  practice 
introduces  unheard  of  corruption  and  confusion  into  the 
language,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  following  view  of  the 
subject:  What  and  wot,  wheel  and  weal,  zuhen  and  wen, 
where  and  were,  whet  and  wet,  whetstone  and  wet  stone, 
whether  and  weather,  whetter  and  wetter,  whey  and  way, 
which  and  witch,  whig  and  wig,  while  and  wile,  whin  and 
win,  whine  and  wine;  whist  and  wist,  whit  and  wit,  white 
and  wight,whither  and  wither,  &c.  are  words  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  expressive  of  distinct  and  independent 
ideas;  yet  every  one  in  the  above  list  is  pronounced,  in 
opposition  to  the  united  voice  of  the  orthoepists,  exactly 
in  the  same  manner  as  its  yokefellow.  Let  this  and 
other  grievances  be  redressed,  and  your  remonstrant 
will  demean  himself  as  a  peaceable  member  of  the  al- 
phabet, and  as  a  liege  subject  of  the  republic  of  letters; 
otherwise,  you  will  be  troubled  with  some  "hard  breath- 
ing" occasionally. 


PRUDENCE, 


Of  all  the  qualities  of  the  mind,  prudence  is  the  most 
useful.  It  is  the  virtue  of  civilized  nations.  What  is 
prudence?   It  is 

"A  sly  slow  thing  with  circumspective  eyes." 

It  takes  a  full  view  of  the  ground,  and  advances  with 
caution.  It  subdues  all  violent  emotions,  of  whatever 
nature  they  may  be.  It  forms  no  friendships  but  profi- 
table ones;  and  these  are  preserved  no  longer  than  they 
continue  so.  It  studies  the  character  of  its  neighbor:  it 
marks  his  dispositions,  propensities,  and  passions;  and 
avails  itself  of  every  advantage   that  may  be  drawn 


36  THE    SAVAGE. 

from  knowledge  thus  acquired.  It  hurries  its  friend 
into  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  and  deliberately  notes  down 
every  extravagance  of  the  moment.  It  then  soothes 
the  irritated  passions  of  its  open-hearted  dupe,  and  reaps 
the  full  harvest  of  his  returning  kindness.  It  worms 
itself  into  the  confidence  of  the  unsuspecting,  and  waits 
the  proper  moment  to  betray  it.  In  fine,  its  constant 
business  is  to  mark  out  the  defects  of  others,  and  coolly 
take  advantage  of  every  weakness.  It  digs  a  pit  for  the 
stranger,  and  lays  a  stumbling  block  before  the  blind. 
O  for  "a  hundred  tongues,  and  a  voice  of  iron,"  that  we 
might  curse  thee  Prudence! 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  TV. 
RECOLLECTIONS  OF  YOUTH. 

Whence  arises  the  happiness  of  youth?  Is  it  owing 
to  the  novelty  of  the  scenes  which  surround  us,  and  to 
the  superficial  view  we  take  of  persons  and  things? 

Nature  clothes  her  face  in  smiles;  and  we  enquire  no 
farther,  but  resign  ourselves  with  enthusiasm  to  appear- 
ances. We  are  susceptible  of  the  impressions  of  every 
species  of  beauty;  but  repel  with  impatience  the  ap- 
proaches of  deformity. 

We  rejoice:  whether  the  sun  rise  in  glory,  and  the 
leaves  of  the  forest  are  spangled  with  the  dew  of  the 
morning;  or  whether,  setting  in  the  western  ocean,  he 
dye,  with  streaming  gold,  the  summits  of  the  eastern 
mountains.  We  rejoice :  whether  the  rushing  of  the 
north  wind  be  heard  among  the  hills,  or  the  eastern 
breeze  sigh  amid  the  tops  of  the  pines.  We  rejoice : 
whether  the  south  wind  breathe  on  spicy  groves,  or  the 
gales  of  the  evening  curl  the  glassy  bosom  of  the  lake. 
We  rejoice:  and  we  wish  to  communicate  to  others  the 
happiness  which  we  feel. 

Nature  has  been  bountiful  to  us:  and  our  hearts  swell 
with  emotions  of  benevolence  too  mighty  for  utterance. 


THE    SAVAGE.  37 

We  would  dispense  blessings  with  a  hand  of  unlimit- 
ed profusion,  and  pour  into  every  heart  the  enthusi- 
asm of  our  joy.  We  think  that  all  mankind  are  pos- 
sessed of  the  same  innocence,  simplicity,  and  benevo- 
lence, of  which  we  ourselves  are  conscious;  the  young 
tendrils  of  our  affections  lay  hold  of  every  object  they 
can  reach;  and  we  resign  ourselves  to  the  raptures  of 
friendship  and  of  love.  Must  the  dream  have  an  end? 
Can  no  charm  make  the  delusion  coeval  with  our  ex- 
istence? Shall  the  frosts  of  adversity  nip  the  young 
shoots  of  our  affections?  Shall  the  mildew  of  vice  blast 
the  fair  hopes  of  a  harvest  of  happiness?  or  shall  the  en- 
emy, in  the  night,  sow  the  tares  of  dissension  and  dis- 
trust? 

Happy  are  they,  whose  life  terminates  ere  the  blind 
confidence  of  youth  is  destroyed!  Happy  are  they,  who 
live  not  to  discover  the  error  under  which  they  have 
labored ! 

Still  may  we  remember  the  moments  when  we  re- 
nounced, with  anguish  of  heart  and  bitterness  of  soul, 
the  confidence  we  had  reposed  in  the  world.  The  fair 
face  of  nature  was  deformed;  the  cup  of  delight  was  dash- 
ed from  our  lips;  and  we  grew  sick  of  our  existence. 
The  impression  made  on  our  minds  by  the  treachery  of 
one  friend  is,  in  part,  effaced  by  the  pleasure  we  find 
in  confiding  in  another.  But  disappointment  follows  dis- 
appointment; and  perfidy  succeeds  perfidy.  Still  we 
are  not  easily  discouraged.  Man  cannot  be  happy 
alone.  The  enjoyments  of  life  would  be  insipid,  could 
we  not  share  them  with  others.  To  minds  who  have 
exchanged  the  sentiments  of  friendship,  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  solitary  pleasure. 

Well  then,  let  another  smiling  deception  approach — 
we  embrace  it.  Interest  or  caprice  dissolves  the  en- 
chantment— we  are  miserable.  But  even  our  uneasi- 
ness hurries  us  on  to  make  choice  of  a  new  friend.  The 
blind  confidence  of  youth  is  destroyed;  but  the  social 
principle  remains,  and  forces  us,  contrary  to  the  plainest 
dictates  of  cool  calculating  reason,  into  new  intimacies. 
D 


38  THE    SAVAGE. 

It  is,  nevertheless,  observable  that  early  friendships 
possess  a  charm  which  is  unknown  to  those  formed  in 
maturer  years.  After  having  been  often  disappointed,  a 
portion  of  fearful  distrust  mixes  itself  with  our  enjoy- 
ments. We  wish  to  seize  the  golden  fruit;  but  we  re- 
member the  apples  of  Sodom.  We  regale  ourselves 
with  "honey  from  the  rock;"  but  it  is  mingled  with  gall. 
In  a  moment  of  confidence  we  give  away  our  souls: 
and  the  succeeding  instant  is  imbittered  with  suspicious 
forebodings. 

"He  that  hath  ears  to  hear  let  him  hear."  We  ad- 
dress those  to  whom  nature  has  imparted  a  portion  of 
ethereal  fire:  whose  lips  she  has  touched  with  a  live 
coal  from  her  heavenly  altar.  We  address  those  whose 
ruling  passion  in  youth,  was  to  reciprocate  the  delights 
of  friendship;  and  who  have  experienced  the  mental 
agony  and  mortification  that  result  from  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing misplaced  their  early  affections.  We  address  not 
those  who  have  always  sailed  on  a  smooth  sea,  with  rea- 
son at  the  helm,  and  whose  bark  has  never  been  tossed 
by  a  storm  of  tempestuous  passions.  Their  tranquillity 
is  rather  owing  to  constitutional  insensibility  than  to 
any  thing  else:  they  would  not  understand  us. 

An  elegant  author  puts  the  following  words  into  the 
mouth  of  Aristippus,  the  philosopher:  "Friendship  is 
the  most  sublime  and  most  dangerous  of  the  gifts  of 
Heaven:  its  enjoyments  are  delicious,  its  vicissitudes 
tremendous;  and  ought  a  wise  man  to  expose  himself  to 
losses,  the  bitterness  of  which  would  impoison  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life?"  A  wise  man !  No:  The  mise  man 
of  Aristippus,  or  of  Rochefoucault,  is  as  incapable  of 
partaking  of  the  "delicious  enjoyments,"  as  he  is  of  ex- 
periencing the  "tremendous  vicissitudes"  above  men- 
tioned. Such  friendships  as  that  of  Aristippus  are  not 
indeed,  uncommon:  he  would  "admit  of  convenient  in- 
timacies, but  banish  that  friendship,  which  renders  us 
susceptible  of  the  sufferings  of  others."  "I  was  in 
iEgina,"  says  he,  "when  I  learned  that  my  dear  master 
Socrates  was  condemned;  that  he  was  in  prison;  that 


THE    SAVAGE.  39 

the  execution  was  delayed  for  a  month;  and  that  his 
disciples  were  permitted  to  visit  him.  If  it  had  been  in 
my  power  to  have  freed  him  from  his  chains,  I  would 
have  flown  to  his  assistance;  but  I  could  do  nothing  for 
him,  so  I  remained  in  zEgina."  Such  may  be  the  friend- 
ship of  a  wise  man;  such  may  be  the  dictates  of  pru- 
dence; but  such  are  not  the  sentiments  of  virtuous  and 
ingenuous  youth.  Such  are  not  the  sentiments  of  the 
man  who  can  partake,  with  us,  of  the  entertainment 
that  is  derived  from  these  melancholy  retrospections. 


THE  DEVIL. 

Posthabui  tamen  illorum  mea  eeria  ludo. 

Books  have  been  written  on  the  rights  of  man;  and 
we  have  heard  much  of  the  wrongs  which  he  has  sus- 
tained. In  one  treatise  the  rights  of  woman  are  explain- 
ed ;  and  in  another  her  wrongs  are  exemplified. 

As  we  were  revolving  this  subject  in  our  mind,  it  oc- 
curred to  us  that  much  might  be  said  concerning  the 
wrongs  of  the  devil.  As  to  rights,  we  will  suppose  that 
he  has  none;  but  does  that  justify  the  children  of  men 
in  imputing  to  him  crimes  of  which  he  is  not  guilty?  If 
men  act  right,  they  arrogate  the  merit  to  themselves; 
but  if  they  act  wrong,  why  then,*forsooth,  it  was  at  the 
instigation  of  the  devil. 

Men  in  all  ages  have  certainly  joined  to  attribute 
every  thing  wicked  to  the  agency  of  this  being:  does 
not  this  universal  consent  of  mankind  speak  much 
against  him?  True:  but  it  is  also  to  be  considered  that 
this  is  the  report  of  his  enemies. 

While  these  thoughts  were  chasing  each  other  through 
our  mind,  in  the  de^id  hour  of  the  night,  we  all  at  once 
felt  a  strong  inclination  to  interrogate  the  devil  on  the 
subject,  and  see  whether  he  had  any  thing  to  offer  in  his 
own  defence.  It  appeared  to  us  to  be  but  justice  to 
"hear  also  the  other  party." 


40  THE    SAVAGE. 

And  whether  it  were  owing  to  a  periodical  fit  of  in- 
sanity to  which  we  are  subject,  or  whether  what  we  arc 
about  to  relatedid  actually  take  place,  we  will  not  un- 
dertake to  determine.  Let  the  public  judge.  If  we  were 
mad,  there  was  "method  in  our  madness,"  as  you  will 
perceive  when  we  relate  our  story. 

And  why  should  it  be  thought  strange  that  we  should 
see  the  devil?  It  is  only  what  thousands  of  old  women 
have  done;  and  our  optics  are  as  good  as  those  of  any 
old  woman  in  the  universe.  We  would  not, indeed,  wish 
to  have  it  supposed  that  we  are  very  intimate  with  th<> 
old  gentleman,  as  he  bears  but  an  indifferent  character: 
and  we  are  very  desirous  of  supporting  the  dignity  of 
our  character.  We  should  not,  we  suppose,  incur  any 
risk  of  being  burned,  at  the  present  day,  for  holding  a 
short  conversation  with  his  infernal  majesty;  but  still. 
as  we  could  produce  no  witnesses  to  testify  the  nature 
of  the  intercourse  which  might  subsist  between  us,  we 
would  rather  not  have  it  thought  that  his  visits  to  us 
were  very  frequent,  especially  about  midnight.  But  the 
alarm  we  should  experience,  even  in  that  case,  appears 
to  be  without  foundation.  Has  not  Satan  appeared  to 
prophets,  apostles,  and  holy  men  in  all  ages?  Did  not 
Michael  the  archangel  treat  him  with  the  greatest  po- 
liteness? Indeed,  if  we  remember  right,  it  is  written, 
that  Michael  "durst  not  bring  a  railing  accusation" 
against  him.  How  fhen  could  it  be  expected  that  we 
should  have  the  heroism  to  wage  war  with  the  devil  when 
he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  pay  us  a  visit?  No,  no:  we 
thought  it  best  to  treat  him  civilly,  as  Michael  did,  and 
thus  Jet  rid  of  him  as  soon  as  possible:  for  we  will  not 
pretend  to  assert  that  we  were  altogether  at  our  ease 
during  the  time  of  the  interview.  The  serious  fact  is 
this,  and  we  may  as  well  acknowledge  it,  had  he  ap- 
peared to  us,  arrayed  in  his  nightgown  of  flame  and  sul- 
phur, with  eyes  like  two  bloody  moons,  and  his  mouth 
open,  sputtering  hellfire  and  damnation,  we  had  been 
confoundedly  frightened.  We,  although  savage,  have 
neither  tomahawk  nor  scalping  knife;  and  we  should 


THE    SAVAGE.  41 

have  made  but  a  poor  defence   with  our  pipe-stem. 

But  what  did  you  see? 

Have  patience,  good  reader,  (if  you  be  good,  which 
we  much  question,)  we  have  a  way  of  our  own  in  telling 
a  story,  and  do  not  like  to  be  interrupted;  but  as  we 
perceive  your  anxiety  to  learn  the  issue,  we  will  endea- 
vor to  gratify  you  as  soon  as  possible. 

In  the  midst  of  our  nocturnal  contemplation,  we  were 
alarmed  with  what  seemed  to  be  the  rushing  of  wind 
through  some  of  the  adjoining  apartments,  and  the  open- 
ing and  shutting  of  doors  in  different  parts  of  the  build- 
ing. We  listened.  All  was  silent.  Before  we  had  fairly 
composed  our  thoughts  after  this  interruption,  we  were 
startled  at  a  great  noise;  it  seemed  as  though  it  had 
been  occasioned  by  the  falling  of  some  great  weight  in 
one  of  the  upper  rooms.  While  we  were  about  prepar- 
ing, though  not  without  some  unaccountable  trepidation, 
(forweare  naturally  brave)  to  examine  into  the  matter, 
we  heard,  distinctly, a  noise  like  the  report  of  a  pistol: 
and  immediately  after,  our  ears  were  saluted  with  a  low 
but  sweet  melody:  it  was  like  thc»  distant  breathing  of 
an  Eolian  harp.  We  accidentally  turned  our  eyes  to- 
ward our  candle:  it  sunk  down  into  the  socket.  The 
flame  was  lengthened,  but  became  blue.  We  smelt  sul- 
phur. A  noise  like  the  rustling  of  silks  was  heard  in 
our  apartment.  A  shadow  seemed  to  flit  by  us.  Wre 
raised  our  eyes,  and  perceived  a  form.  The  outlines 
were  indistinct;  but  it  bore  the  resemblance  of  a  man. 

"I  know,"  said  the  form,  "the  subject  of  your  late 
contemplations."  We  continued -silent  fors  ome  time. 
Had  we  not  been  infatuated,  we  would  have  made  cer- 
tain cabalistical  signs,  with  which  we  are  familiar,  that 
would  have  startled  our  infernal  visitant;  but  it  never 
occurred  to  us.  Nemo  omnibus  hor is. 

We  at  last  mustered  courage  to  demand  "Who  are 
you?"  The  answer  was  immediate  and  explicit, "I  am 
the  devil." 

Piomingo.  You  are!  Well,  Mister  Devil,  (for  as   we 
knew  that  titles  were  delightful  to  republicans,  we  con- 
D2 


42  THE    SAVAGE. 

eluded  that  they  would  be  doubly  pleasing  to  the  devil, 
who,  if  we  mistake  not,  is  something  of  a  royalist  in  hell, 
though  he  acted  the  demagogue  m  heaven.)  Well, Mis- 
ter Devil,  how  came  you  to  be  acquainted  with  the  sub- 
ject of  my  contemplations?  You  cannot  read  the  heart? 

Devil.  No:  but  in  my  rambles,  moving  about  "to  and 
fro  upon  the  earth,"  I  have  several  times  met  with  you. 
And  when  you  get  into  a  train  of  thinking,  you  make 
so  many  odd  grimaces  and  contortions,  that  any  devil  of 
common  sagacity  can  tell  every  thought  that  passes 
through  your  mind. 

Piomingo,  Squire  Devil,  [We  were  not  a  little  uneasy 
on  account  of  the  proximity  of  the  "roaring  lion,"  there- 
fore we  made  use  of  this  soothing  expression  to  smooth 
down  the  hairs  of  the  ferocious  beast.]  Squire  Devil, 
you  possess  an  uncommon  share  of  ingenuity:  be  so 
good  as  to  inform  me,  to  what  fortunate  circumstance 
1  am  indebted  for  the  honor  of  your  present  visit?  [We 
had  heard  these  expressions  made  use  of  in  polished 
circles,  and  had  no  doubt  that  they  would  be  highly 
gratifying  to  the  devil,  who  must  be  highly  civilized, 
having  met  with  hard  rubs  enough  to  wear  off  the  rough 
prominencies  of  his  original  character.] 

Devil.  As  you  are  a  savage,  I  have  some  hopes  that 
you  will  deal  justly  even  with  the  devil.  Civilized  men 
have  a  proverb,  about  giving  the  devil  his  due;  but  that 
is  all.  I  know  very  well  what  their  expressions  amount 
to:  vox  et  prceterea  nihil, 

Piomingo,  My  dear  sir,  (meaning  you  damned  black 
rascal)  My  dear  szV,you  do  me  great  honor:  be  pleased 
to  proceed — but  1  beg  your  pardon — Excuse  my  inat- 
tention— (handing  a  chair,)  I  beg  you  will  be  seated. 
[We  shall  not  be  accused  of  abject  servility  in  showing 
this  attention  to  the  devil,  when  it  is  remembered  that 
we  were  in  the  presence  of  a  powerful  being  "the  prince 
of  the  power  of  the  air,"  who  could  in  a  moment  have 
blown  tire  enough  out  of  his  nostrils  to  have  burned  us 
and  our  house  to  a  cinder.  We  have  heard  that  he  is 
in  the  habit  of  carrying  off  half  the  house  in  his  flight, 


THE    SAVAGE.  43 

if  he  be  any  way  dissatisfied  with  the  treatment  he  re- 
ceives. It  was  probably  owing  to  our  intercourse  with 
civilized  society,  that  we  were  able  to  avert,  by  a  few 
soothing  expressions,  (which  cost  nothing)  so  dreadful  a 
calamity.  The  old  fellow  took  the  chair  we  had  offered, 
and,  drawing  it  up  close  to  ours  sat  down  with  the  great- 
est composure.  We  renewed  the  light:  and  had  full 
leisure  to  examine  his  person  and  dress.  We  were 
amazed  at  the  fairness  of  his  complexion  and  the  white- 
ness of  his  raiment,  until  it  occurred  to  us,  all  at  once, 
that  he  had  transformed  himself  into  an  "angel  of  light." 
He  observed  our  tobacco  pipe  lying  on  a  stand,  and, 
reaching  out  his  hand,  took  it  up,  and  immediately  be- 
gan to  smoke.] 

Devil,  (puffing  the  smoke  in  our  face,)  I  find  much  en- 
tertainment in  smoking. 

Piomingo.  I  am  overpowered  by  the  condescension 
of  your  majesty,  (meaning,  damn  your  familiarity.)  [It 
here  occurred  to  us  that  we  ought  to  give  him  his 
princely  titles:  and  this  civilized  stroke  of  ours  had  the 
desired  effect.  He  became  remarkably  cheerful  and 
pleasant;  and  we  pledge  our  savage  word  that  his  coun- 
tenance,was  not  disagreeable.  However,upon  close  in- 
spection (for  we  have  studied  Lavater)  there  appeared, 
in  his  countenance,  lurking  behind  a  profusion  of  smiles, 
something  of  cunning  and  malignity.  Such  visages  we 
have  often  met  with  among  men  of  the  world.] 

Devil.  It  is  a  fact,  Piomingo,  that  men  use  me  very  ill. 

Piomingo.  I  believe  they  do — but,  would  your  infernal 
sublimity  taste  a  glass  of  wine?  [Here  we  arose  and 
brought  a  decanter  and  a  couple  of  glasses,  saying, 
aside,  (not  so  loud  as  they  do  at  the  theatre  though) 
"The  old  scoundrel!  I  wish  it  was  melted  lead  for 
his  sake!"  but  as  we  did  not  wish  to  make  the  old 
fellow  tipsy,  we  slyly  mixed  a  little  water  with  the  wine. 
For  all  which  proceedings,  we  have  the  best  civilized  au- 
thority.] 

Piomingo.  (bowing)  Your  majesty's  health,  (meaning, 
May  you  be  roasted  on  tfic  gridiron  of  damnation  /) 


44  -      THE    SAVAGE. 

Devil,  (bowing)  Your  health!  I  wish  you  everlasting 
prosperity!  [Non  ego  credulus illi] 

[Could  there  be  any  thing  wrong  in  our  showing 
this  attention  to  the  devil?  It  was  a  lesson  we  learned 
from  the  men  of  the  world.  We  have  often  seen  them 
adulating  and  caressing  men  whom  they  hated  much 
more  than  we  do  the  devil.  If  we  were  wrong,  they  are 
doubly  so.] 

Piomingo.  Men,  now,  as  well  as  formerly,  speak  evil 
of  dignities. 

Devil.  Yes,  men  are  very  wrong  in  attributing  to  me 
the  evils  which  they,  themselves,  commit.  I  declare, 
upon  the  honor  of  a  devil,  that  I  do  not  concern  myself 
with  the  affairs  of  the  world. 

Piomingo.  How  then  did  it  happen  that  you  seduced 
our  great  grandmother  Eve,  fromthe  paths  of  rectitude, 
by  your  subtle  devices? 

Devil.  O,  that  was  a  very  different  case.  Eve  was  vir- 
tuous: she  was  correct  in  her  conduct,  and  it  required 
all  the  ingenuity  of  the  devil  to  set  her  wrong.  Your 
poet  Milton  gives  a  very  true  account  of  the  trouble  I 
had  in  that  affair.  Milton,  indeed,  is  the  only  writer 
that  gives  any  thing  like  a  correct  idea  of  diabolical 
manners. 

Piomingo.  But,  may  it  please  you  tartarean  highness, 
have  we  not  accounts  of  your  interfering  in  the  concerns 
of  the  world  long  since  the  fa/1  of  man:  as  in  the  case 
of  Job? 

Devil.  O  yes,  when  any  thing  occurs  worthy  of  my 
attention,  I  am  not  backward,  on  my  part,  in  furthering 
the  interests  of  my  kingdom.  When,  once  in  a  thousand 
years,  or  so,  the  world  produces  a  man  like  Job,  I  then 
find  it  necessary  to  exert  all  my  infernal  talents  to  de- 
grade him;  lest  his  example  should  become  destructive 
to  the  cause  of  immorality;  but,  I  protest  to  you,  by  the 
mejesty  of  Pandemonium,  that  the  world  is  at  present 
so  wicked,  that  there  is  not  the  smallest  necessity  for  the 
malignant  agency  of  the  devil.  Job  was  an  object 
worthy  of  my  ambition:  but  do  you  suppose  that  it  was 


THE    SAVAGE.  45 

through  my  instigations  that  his  wife  acted  in  the  man- 
ner she  did?     If  you  do,  you  are  mistaken. 

Piomingo.  Your  excellency  knows  best:  I  yield  full 
credence  to  all  your  assertions.  (Meaning,  J  know  you 
to  be  the  "father  of  lies"  and  do  not  believe  a  word  you 
say.) 

Devil.  But  that  which  displeases  me  more  than  any 
thing  else,  is  their  habit  of  attributing  to  me  the  origin- 
ation of  a  thousand  pitiful,  sneaking  little  criminalities, 
with  which,  I  swear  by  the  blue  blazes  of  Tophet,  I 
would  not  dirty  my  fingers.  My  concience  is,  certainly, 
not  very  troublesome;  but  I  indubitably  would  not  de- 
base my  infernal  dignity  so  much  as  to  assist  in  the 
perpetration  of  a  thousand  little  meannesses  to  which 
men  are  addicted. 

Does  anyone  act  preposterously  and  absurdly;  some 
wise  head  will  be  sure  to  observe,  "I  cannot  tell  what 
the  man  means.  He  has  lost  his  senses,  or  the  devil  is 
in  him."  What  distraction!  Do  the  children  of  Adam 
suppose  that  they  would  act  wisely  were  it  not  for  the 
wiles  of  the  devil?  Must  all  their  folly  and  insanity  be 
laid  on  my  shoulders,  as  well  as  their  meannesses  and 
wickednesses? 

Then  again,  they  make  me  a  picture  of  deformity  as 
well  as  the  author  of  iniquity.  Is  any  one  misshapen  or 
hardfavored;  some  jackanapes  will  undoubtedly  ex- 
claim, "He  is  as  ugly  as  the  devil!"  The  puppies!  must 
I  be  the  prototype  as  well  of  corporal  as  of  mental  ob- 
liquity! Why  should  they  suppose  that  1  had  horns 
like  an  ox,  or  a  foot  like  a  goat?  By  the  infernal  gods! 
my  imperial  blood  boils  with  diabolical  indignation, 
when  I  think  of  such  slanderous  aspersions! — But  my 
time  may  come — they  may  fall  in  my  power — and  then, 
ye  powers  of  darkness!  how  I  will  roast  them!  [Here 
the  devil  fell  into  a  furious  passion.  He  foamed  at  the 
mouth;  sparks  flew  in  myriads  from  his  eyes;  and  the 
smoke  rolled  from  his  nostrils!  We  were  terrified.] 

Piomingo.  The  resentment  shown  by  your  majesty  is 
very  just;  but — 


46  THE    SAVAGE. 

Devil.  True,  very  true;  I  should  not  suffer  my  sereni- 
ty to  be  disturbed  by  their  contemptible  malignity. 
[Here  he  suppressed  his  agitation,  adjusted  his  robe, 
and  called  up  the  obedient  smiles  in  his  countenance.] 

Piomingo.  Your  sublimity  should  rather  derive  a- 
musement  from  their  folly,  than  suffer  it  to  give  you  any 
uneasiness.  Your  majesty's  glass — 

Devil.  Their  folly  is  amusing;  (drinking  and  bowing) 
very  amusing  indeed.  To  hear  a  fellow  call  one  of  his 
neighbors  "a  great  overgrown  devil;"  and  in  the  same 
breath  describe  another  as  "a  poor  puny  little  devil,"  is, 
upon  my  soul,  very  amusing — ha  ha  ha! 

Piomingo.  Ha  ha  ha!  [Our  laugh  was  forced;  but 
had  we  not  been  diverted  by  our  infernal  visiter's  wit, 
we  should  have  offended  him  eternally.  We  therefore 
dragged  the  unwilling  convulsion  into  our  visage,  and 
laughed  most  obstreperously.  We  all  know  that,  in  the 
common  occurrences  of  life,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
laugh  at  all  the  dull  jokes  and  insipid  sayings  of  a  rich  man : 
how  much  more  incumbent  was  it  upon  us  to  be  titillated 
by  the  pleasantry  of  his  majesty  of  Pandemonium?] 

Devil.  Of  the  magnitude  of  him  who 

"Collecting  all  his  might,  dilated  stood, 
Like  Teneriffor  Atlas;" 

of  whom  it  is  said  that 

''His  stature  reached  the  sky,  and  on  his  crest 
Sat  horror  plumed;" 

of  the  magnitude  of  such  a  one,  I  say,  mortals  may  talk 
with  the  utmost  propriety. 

Piomingo.  With  the  utmost  propriety.  [We  had 
learned  that,  among  men,  nothing  gives  greater  pleas- 
ure to  one  who  is  ambitiousof  makinga  display  of  his  ora- 
torical powers  in  conversation,  than  barely  to  assent  to 
every  thing  that  he  says:  and  if  this  assent  be  given  by  re- 
peating a  few  of  the  orator's  own  words,  the  satisfaction 
will  be  complete.  We  concluded  that,in  all  probability, 
the  case  was  the  same  among  devils;  and  therefore  we 
played  off  our  civilization  upon  the  "god  of  this  world."] 

Devil.  But  to  talk  of  a /z7//e  devil,  is  as  absurd  as  to 
talk  of  a  great  man 


THE    SAVAGE.  47 

Piomingo.  Which  would  be  the  height  of  absurdity. 
[We  felt  the  meanness  of  our  conduct  in  yielding  this 
point  to  the  old  sinner;  but  as  we  had  put  on  the  paint- 
ed visor  of  refined  man,  we  determined  not  to  throw  it 
off.] 

Devil.  I  have  sometimes  supposed  that  your  gay  ones 
were  like  to  have  correct  ideas  of  infernal  beauty,  when 
I  have  heard  them  say  of  a  fine  girl,  "She  is  devilish 
handsome;"  but  I  found  this  merely  owing  to  a  strange 
partiality  they  had  for  the  word  "devilish:"  it  being 
applied  indiscriminately  to  beauty  and  deformity.  In- 
deed, all  words,  thathaveany  relation  to  my  lower  domin- 
ions, appear  to  be  favorites  with  these  mortals.  The 
words  certainly  are  expressive.  But  the  thing  that  dis- 
pleases me  is  this:  they  use  them  without  any  regard 
to  propriety.  One  man  is  "damned  rich;"  another  is 
"damned  poor."  In  summer,  it  is  as  "hot  as  hell;"  and 
in  winter,  as  cold  as  damnation:  the  word  "damn" 
and  its  derivatives,  making  nearly  one  half  of  their  vo- 
cabulary. [The  clock  struck  one.  He  vanished,  leav- 
ing nothing  behind  him  but  a  sulphureous  stench.  Had 
he  taken  his  leave  in  an  orderly  manner,  we  would 
have  waited  on  him  to  the  door,  and  requested  the  honorof 
another  visit; — but  we  were  extremely  well  pleased 
with  the  manner  of  his  departure. 

After  looking  cautiously  round,  and  becoming  per- 
fectly satisfied  that  he  was  actually  gone,  we  began  to 
abuse  him  most  politely,  cursing  him  and  all  his  gene- 
ration from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  this  day, 
and  imputing  to  his  instigation  every  error  of  our  life. 
We  called  him  wicked,  mean,  black,  deformed,  cloven- 
hoofed,  horned;  and  gave  him  every  other  opprobrious 
epithet  that  we  could  find  in  the  English  and  Muscogul- 
gee  languages.     We  grow  civilized.] 


LETTERS. 


Excellence  in  letter  writing  is  allowed  by  the  best 
judges  to  be  difficult  of  attainment:  and  the  directions 


48  THE    SAVAGE. 

that  are  laid  down  to  guide  us  in  the  pursuit  of  this  ex- 
cellence appear  to  be  defective.  We  are  told  that  the 
style  must  be  easy  and  natural;  and  that  we  should  use 
nearly  the  language  of  conversation.  This  is  very  true; 
but  in  conversation  we  are  generally  prolix,  and  it  is 
necessary  in  writing  a  letter  that  we  should  avoid  that 
prolixity.  It  requires  a  considerable  portion  of  ingenui- 
ty to  condense  our  matter  sufficiently,  and  still  retain 
that  ease  and  simplicity  which  are  indispensable  requi- 
sites in  epistolary  writing. 

Every  appearance  of  carelessness,  in  a  letter,  is  an  in- 
sult offered  to  the  person  with  whom  we  correspond. 
When  we  receive  a  letter  from  a  person  who  calls  him- 
self our  friend,  written  in  a  careless  and  slovenly  man- 
ner, we  are  always  much  more  displeased  than  if  that 
friend  had  not  written  at  all. 

Letters, on  business,  may  be  as  short  as  one  pleases: 
and  the  shorter  the  better,  if  they  be  sufficiently  full  and 
explicit;  but  letters  of  friendship  ought  to  be  somewhat 
extended;  if  they  be  very  brief  it  is  informing  our  cor- 
respondent that  we  do  not  chose  to  devote  a  moment's 
attention  to  him  or  his  affairs,  more  than  the  cold  rules  of 
politeness  imperiously  demand. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  V. 
FRIENDSHIP. 

Our  observations  on  friendship  have  led  us  to  re- 
flect on  those  institutions  of  society  which  are  favorable 
or  unfavorable  to  the  existence  or  continuance  of  the 
social  affections. 

If  friendship  frequently  meet  with  interruptions  a- 
mong  savages,  how  much  more  unfortunate  is  its  fate 
where*  the  system  of  oppropriation  is  carried  into  every 
department  of  human  affairs ;  where  education,  man- 
ners, amusements,  and,  in  fine,  all  the  concerns  of  life. 


THE    SAVAGE.  49 

have  a  direct  tendency  to  encourage  and  establish  the 
selfish  propensities  of  the  human  breast;  where  the  first 
lessons  of  youth  are  calculated  to  brutalize  the  mind,  ex- 
tinguish every  spark  of  generous  enthusiasm;  where 
every  thing  is  carved  out  into  portions,  and  mcum  and 
tuum  meet  the  eye  every  where  both  at  home  and 
abroad;  where  the  earth  is  divided  into  sections,  the 
water  descends  by  inheritance,  and  even  the  use  of  the 
air  is  appropriated  to  individuals? 

If  friedship  be  insecure  among  savages,  where  there 
are  none  rich  and  none  poor;  where  the  earth,  the  air, 
and  the  water  are  free;  where  the  whole  village  assem- 
bles at  dances  and  public  feasts,  and  all  unite  in  amuse- 
ments interesting  to  all;  where  every  heart  is  light,  and 
every  tongue  utters  the  effusions  of  the  heart;  where  all 
unite,  in  one  body,  to  praise   the  God  of  their  fathers 
with  songs  and  with  dances,  with  the  music  of  reeds 
and  the  beating  of  drums;  where  the  joy  becomes  con- 
tageous,  and   the  gladness  of  the  soul  is  reflected  from 
face  to  face,  until  the  sick  forgets  his  pain ;  the  afflicted, 
his  sorrow;  and  the  aged,  the    approaches  of  death; 
where  all  join  in  one  dance,  and  all  sit  down  to  one  feast; 
where  no  invidious  preferences  are  shown,  no  insulting 
privilege  usurped — if  friendship,  we  repeat  it,  be  inse- 
cure under  these  circumstances,  how  precarious  must 
its   situation  be,   where  nothing  gives  importance   but 
wealth,  and  wealth   has  no  connexion  with  individual 
merit:  where  the  higher  and  the  lower  ranks  never  unite 
in  the  same  amusement;  where  men  never  can  forget 
for  a  moment  the  inequality  of  their  situations  in  life: 
where  sordid  ignorant  bloated  wealth  must  be  fed  with 
continual  adulation,  and  indigent  merit  must  shrink 
into  insignificance,  or  become  the  object  of  ridicule  and 
contempt;  where  every  association  of  individuals  is  a 
school  of  intrigue  and  a  conspiracy  against  the  species 
at  large;  where  every  individual  watches  his  neighbor 
with  an  eye  of  suspicion  and  distrust;  where  truth  is 
never  heard,  unless  for  some  malignant  purpose;  and 
where  men  endeavor  to  wear  the  semblance  of  virtue, 
E 


50  THE    SAVAGE. 

but  lay  it  down,  as  a  practical  rule,  not  to  be  incum- 
bered with  the  substance? 

If  friendship  be  insecure  among  savages,  where  the 
spirit  of  hoarding  and  the  desire  of  accumulation  are  un- 
known, how  must  it  be  where  every  one  has  his  locked 
coffer  which  incloses  the  object  of  his  private  adoration? 
If  benevolent  affections  meet  with  frequent-interrup- 
tions where  the  institutions  of  society  are  such  that 
merit  exerts  its  proper  influence,  and  worth  finds  its  due 
level  in  the  community,  what  must  be  their  fate,  where 
there  is  no  merit  but  wealth,  no  virtue  but  cunning? 

We  are  convinced  that  friendship  seldom  exists  in  the 
civilized  world,  unless  it  be  among  boys  at  school. — 
These  sometimes  draw  certain  old  notions  of  virtue  and 
justice  from  books,  with  which  they  appear  to  be  cap- 
tivated for  a  time;  but  as  soon  as  they  engage  in  the 
affairs  of  the  world,  they  find  it  necessary  to  get  initiated 
into  that  smooth  system  of  specious  vice,  which  goes  by 
the  name  of  prudence  and  knowledge  of  the  world. — 
They  soon  discover  that  there  is  but  one  thing  needful* 
If  they  can  acquire  that,  they  will  have  every  thing  at 
command;  but  if  that  be  unattained,  they  will  have 
nothing.  Where  are  now  the  gay  dreams  of  youthful 
friendship?  They  have  vanished  as  the  morning  dew 
before  the  rising  sun. 

At  school  there  is  some  appearance  of  equality.  Boya 
there  form  connexions  that  are  known  by  the  name  of 
friendship,  and  fondly  imagine  that  they  will  continue 
for  ever.  But  immediately  upon  entering  into  the  world 
this  equality  disappears;  and  the  friendship,  if  it  should 
still  seem  to  subsist,  degenerates  into  overbearing  des- 
potism on  the  one  side,  and  contemptible  cringing  syco- 
phancy on  the  other.  [To  be  continued.] 


LITERARY    INTELLIGENCE. 

Peppermint  Canto  announces  to  the  public  his  in- 
tention of  composing  the  segariad,  an  epic  poem,  in 


THE    SA.VAOE.  51 

twelve  books,  enriched  with  notes,  critical,  historical, 
political,  and  philosophical. 

As  the  author  is  an  enemy  to  every  species  of  useless 
innovation  in  literary  matters,  he  has  determined  that 
the  segvriad  shall  have  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an 
end;  all  which  three  things  are  said  by  the  critics,  to 
be  indispensably  requisite.  Had  not  the  opinion  of 
Aristotle  been  so  very  explicit  on  this  point,  the  author 
had  it  in  contemplation  to  have  written  an  epic  poem 
without  beginning,  middle,  or  end;  but  it  is  always 
safer,  in  affairs  of  such  consequence,  to  follow  the  foot- 
steps of  the  ancients. 

He  is  resolved  to  launch  at  once  into  the  middle  of 
the  action,  as  was  done  by  Virgil  in  the  Eneid.  He 
will  introduce  his  readers  to  a  young  man,  lolling  at  his 
ease,  with  his  heels  higher  than  his  head,  and  the  smoke 
ascending  in  fleecy  curls  to  the  ceiling.  Hence  he  will 
take  occasion  to  describe  some  of  those  delightful  reve- 
ries into  which  the  mind,  of  a  man,  so  situated  and  so 
employed,  is  frequently  plunged.  Thence  he  will  con- 
duct the  reader,  on  a  cloud  of  smoke,  to  the  Limbo  of 
Vanity,  where  he  will  give  an  accurate  description  of 
those  visionary  castles  which  have  been  erected  in  that 
fantastic  region  by  the  dreaming  smokers,  and  smoking 
dreamers  of  all  ages. 

He  has  this  introductory  part  of  the  poem  already 
composed,  and  assures  the  public  that  he  is  extremely 
pleased  with  the  sweetness  and  harmony  of  the  versifi- 
cation and  the  cloudy  obscurity  of  the  meaning,  which 
so  happily  illustrate  those  apathetical  reveries,  when 
men  think  very  deeply,  or  think  not  at  all.  Pope  may 
talk  of  the  sound  being  an  echo  to  the  sense;  but  this 
is  an  echo  of  which  he  had  no  idea. 

The  author  has  invented  a  totally  new  species  of  ma- 
chinery, with  which  he  hopes,the  reader  will  be  highly  de- 
lighted. Heacknowledgesthistobeadaringexperiment; 
but  he  has  the  satisfaction  to  think  that,  if  he  should  fail, 
it  will  be  said  of  him,  as  it  was  of  the  son  of  Apollo, 

magnifl  tamen  excidit  ausia. 


52 


THE    SAVAGE, 


He  has,  ready  made,  a  number  of  finely  polished  epi- 
sodes, which  he  intends  to  attach  to  the  work  as  he  pro- 
ceeds. Some  of  them,  indeed,  appear  at  first  view  to 
have  little  or  no  relation  to  the  action  of  the  poem;  but 
he  feels  confident  that  he  will  be  able  to  weave  them  so 
ingeniously  into  the  main  zvcb  of  his  work,  that  they  will 
appear  to  be  quite  natural.  He  has  already  thought  of 
a  method  of  introducing  the  wars  of  the  giants  in  one 
episode,  and  the  loves  of  the  chivalric  Smith  and  the 
princess  Pocahontas  in  another. 

He  intends  to  begin  with  the  segar,  and  keep  it  as 
much  as  possible  in  sight  through  the  whole  course  of 
the  work;  and  has  no  intention  of  using  it  as  disrespect- 
fully as  Cowper  did  his  sofa. 

He  assures  the  literary  world  that  he  has,  on  hand,  a 
number  of  virgin  similes,  with  which  he  intends  to  em- 
bellish the  segariad.  They  are  all  of  his  own  manu- 
facture; and  he  pledges  his  word  that  they  have  never 
been  touched  by  Homer  or  any  other  poet. 

He  desires  it  to  be  understood  that,  although  the  se- 
gariad will  be  an  epic  poem,  complete  in  all  its  parts, 
yet,  it  will  hold  but  a  secondary  place  in  the  work  which 
he  intends  to  offer  to  the  public.  The  judicious  reader 
will  take  notice  that  the  poem  is  to  serve  as  a  medium 
of  conveyance  for  certain  highly  interesting  observa- 
tions which  he  will  append  to  almost  every  line  of  his 
meditated  production.  He  informs  the  public  that  he 
has  a  vast  quantity  of  literary  lore,  of  the  first  quality, 
which  he  will  present  to  the  public  in  the  form  of  notes 
on  the  SEGARIAD. 

If  the  reader  find  but  two  or  three  lines  of  the  text 
on  a  page,  he  will  have  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied.  Let 
him  peruse  the  notes:  there  he  will  find  instruction 
blended  with  entertainment.  He  will  be  amazed  at  the 
critical  acumen,  political  sagacity,  historical  research, 
and  philosophical  profundity,  which  will  be  there  dis- 
played. 


THE    SAVAGE. 


The  following  observations  are  copied  from  the  American 
Daily  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Poulson — A  small  publication  entitled  "The 
Savage."  fell  into  my  hands  a  few  days  since.  I  have, 
read  it  with  careful  attention,  but  I  cannot  give  it  the 
sanction  of  my  approbation.  Whatever  has  a  tenden- 
cy to  render  man  discontented  with  his  condition,  and  to 
excite  repinings  at  the  dispensation  of  Providence,  must 
be  injurious.  The  virtuous  man  would,  no  doubt,  wish 
to  see  each  individual  equally  virtuous  with  himself — 
but  however  ardently  he  may  desire  it,  it  is  certainly 
questionable  whether  he  would  obtain  his  wishes  by 
becoming  a  savage. 

Men  of  cultivated  minds  have  existed  in  all  times,  to 
whom  civilized  society  has  not  afforded  any  gratification. 
This  arises  perhaps  from  too  great  a  sensibility,  which  is 
not  able  to  bear 

"The  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune." 

— Hence  we  find  the  pictures  they  draw  of  such  society 
deeply  tinged  with  the  melancholy  which  unhappily 
preys  upon  their  spirits. 

It  is  a  circumstance  much  to  be  regretted;  because 
society  loses  in  every  instance  the  good  which  those  ta- 
lents properly  directed  would  be  capable  of  producing. 
The  savage,  Piomingo,  is  a  present  and  strong  instance 
of  a  brilliant  imagination  and  improved  understanding 
thus  strangely  perverted.  What  language  does  he  use! 
How  perspicuous!  Strength  and  harmony  are  blended 
in  his  sentences.  He  strews  the  paths  he  treads  with 
flowers  of  every  varied  hue:  he  deludes  the  judgment 
with  his  fascinations.  But  sir,  his  views  of  that  happy 
constitution  of  things,  which  has  arisen  from  devine  re- 
velation and  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  ages,  will  not 
bear  examination.  It  is  true,  man  is  a  frail  being.  His 
faults  are  numerous:  nor  is  there  one,  who  can  so  fat- 
govern  his  appetites  and  passions  as  to  be  free  from  er- 
ror. Prejudices  will  prevail  over  his  reason.  They  grow 
E2 


54  THE    SAVAGE. 

with  his  growth  and  strengthen  with  his  years,  to  what- 
ever society,  whether  savage  or  civilized,  he  may  be- 
long. Must  he  therefore  shut  hinself  out  from  all  so- 
ciety? His  systems  of  education  may  be  wrong;  but 
they  are  improvable.  Another  direction  might  be  given 
to  his  thoughts:  his  views  might  be  more  extended: 
his  imagination  raised  to  heaven.  But  were  he  to  divest 
himself  of  the  opportunities  he  has  of  acquiring  know- 
ledge; were  he  to  burn  his  cities  and  flee  to  the  woods; 
expose  himself  to  the  inclemencies  of  the  seasons,  and 
to  a  dependence  upon  the  precarious  supply  which  the 
chase  or  the  snare  might  procure  him — would  his  er- 
rors be  rectified? 

The  picture  which  Piomingo  draws  of  savage  life 
are  executed  with  a  master's  hand.  They  are  well  cal- 
culated to  lead  the  unwary  into  a  belief,  that  whatthey 
represent  is  true.  But  like  the  paintings  of  many  other 
disgustful  objects,  the  stench  and  the  tilth  are  left  out. 

"I  pity  the  man,"  says  Sterne,  "who  can  travel  from 
"Dan  to  Bersheba,  and  cry,  all  is  barren.  And  so  it  is; 
"and  so  is  all  the  world  to  him,  who  will  not  cultivate 
"the  fruit  it  offers."  To  this  observation  of  Sterne  some 
poetic  genius  has  affixed  a  few  lines  which  display  a  phi- 
losophy in  consonance  with  the  sentiment.  Allow  me, 
sir,  to  offer  them  to  Piomingo  as  a  most  invaluable  pre- 
sent. Perhaps  they  may  serve  to  smooth  his  wounded 
spirits:  completely  to  tranquillize  it, can  only  be  effect- 
ed by  a  reliance  on  that  gospel,  which  he  affects  to 
treat  with  contumely. 

"Away  with  complaints  of  distress, 

Induc'd  by  false  notions  of  life; 
And  reflect— ('twill  make  trouble  seem  less,) 
The  endearment  of  quiet  is  strife. 
As  the  storms  of  the  ocean,  which  fill  with  alarm, 
Give  a  zest  to  the  pleasure  enjoy  'd  in  a  calm. 

"What  is  it  gives  nature  its  grace? 

Why  is  hope  the  sweet  source  of  delight? 
Whence  the  charm  of  a  beautiful  face, 
Or  of  Phebus  dispelling  the  night? 
By  contrast  alone  are  their  beauties  display 'd, 
Their  coloring  heighten'd  or  soften'd  by  shade. 


THE    SAVAGE.  b'O 

"So  the  slave,  when  disburthen'd  of  toil; 

The  culprit  who  meets  a  reprieve; 
The  lover,  first  blest  with  a  smile, 
And  the  sceptic  when  taught  to  believe: 
Feel  the  change  in  their  prospects  hath  power  to  bless 
In  proportion  exact  to  the  depth  of  distress. 

"If  griefs  then  your  journey  pursue; 

If  flocks,  herds,  and  fields  be  laid  waste; 
Recollect  bitter  aloes  and  rue 
Make  honey  more  sweet  to  the  taste: 
And  around  you  when  darkness  and  tempests  appear 
Think  of  winter  which  ushers  the  spring  of  the  year."  A. 

The  ingenious  author  of  the  foregoing  remarks  seems 
to  have  mistaken  the  views  of  the  Savage.  We  enter- 
tain no  presumptuous  hopes  of  effecting  a  revolution  in 
the  minds  of  men.  We  are  not  Quixotic  enough  to  im- 
agine that  we  can  undo  the  work  of  ages,  and  bring 
back  man  to  a  state  of  barbarism.  This,  however  de- 
sirable such  a  change  might  be,  is  impossible,  unless  by 
the  means  of  some  tremendous  convulsion  of  nature: 
which  Heaven  avert — The  utmost  of  our  ambition  is 
to  afford  entertainment  by  the  novelty  of  our  remarks: 
and  we  are  afraid  that  even  that  is  not  within  the  lim- 
its of  our  power.  There  are  but  two  species  of  writing 
that  the  men  of  the  present  day  are  disposed  to  read; 
something  that  they  can  turn  to  immediate  profit,  and 
slanderous  aspersions  against  their  neighbors.  Now  as 
we  are  disposed  to  gratify  neither  of  these  propensities  we 
have  very  faint  hopes  indeed  that  our  Savage  will  be- 
come popular. 

But,  if  it  be  asked,  what  will  be  the  effect  of  our  re- 
marks in  a  moral  point  of  view;  we  answer,  that  the 
tendency  cannot  be  immoral.  We  are  the  friend  of  vir- 
tue, and  advocate  her  cause.  We  are  the  enemy  of  eve- 
ry species  of  vice;  and  we  endeavor  to  draw  aside  her- 
veil  and  show  her  to  men  in  all  her  native  deformity. 

We  have  no  desire  ''to  excite  repinings  at  the  dis- 
pensation of  Providence;"' nor  do  we  conceive  that  our 
remarks  can  have  that  tendency.  Could  we  render  men 
discontented  with  their  vices  and  follies,  the  concequen- 
ces  could  not  be   deplorable;  but  we  are  not  led  away 


56  THE    SAVAGE. 

by  any  such  sxtravagant  expectations.  This  sordid  cal- 
culating moneymaking  generation  would  not  be  distur- 
bed in  their  operations  even  "should  one  rise  from  the 
dead  j  and  we  have  no  hopes  that  they  will  attend  to"the 
voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness." 

Of  that  happy   constitution   of  things  which  might 
have  arisen  from   divine  revelation,  had  not   the  seed 
fallen  among  thorns  which  have  sprung  up  and  choked  iL 
we  can  form  some  idea;  but  of  the  boasted  wisdom  and 
experience  of  ages,  we  entertain  a  different  opinion.  By 
this  wisdom  and   this  exprience  men  are  subjected  to 
dangers,  difficulties  and  misfortunes,  of  which  their  sa- 
vage fathers  had  no  conception.  Where  are  the  benefi- 
cial   effects  of  this  knowledge?  Have  men  learned  to 
conquer  disease.orretard  the  approaches  of  death?  Does 
their  refinement  give  firmness  and  health  to  old  age,  or 
lengthen  out  the  period  of  youth?  Are  the  mass  of  man- 
kind more  benevolent,  more  just,  more  enlightened,  than 
they  were  formerly?  A  few  prejudices,  whicji'  happened 
to  have  no  connexion  with  selfinterest,  have  been  dis- 
carded; but  others,  much  more  pernicious,  have  been 
guarded   by  our  teachers  as   the  "apple  of  their  eye." 
The  crimes  of  the  moderns  are  less  glaring  than  those 
of  the  ancients,  but  all  their  actions  are  systematically 
vitious.  They  are  not  the  victims  of  a  moral  plague  or 
pestilence;  but  a  sordid  leprosy  has  infected  the  blood; 
and  they  are  become  unclean  "from  the  crown  of  the 
head  to  the  sole  of  the  foot."  The  canker  of  avarice  has 
poisoned  the  constitution  of  society ;  and  its  moral  health 
as  far  as  we  can  perceive,  is  irretrievably  lost.  This  one 
evil  smothers  every  young  and  generousinclination,  and 
has  erected  a  tomb  for  all  the  virtues.  This  one  passion 
is  the  source  of  all  the  evils  which  afflict  humanity:  it 
has  withstood  the  efforts  of  the  friends  of  man  in  every 
age,  and  rendered  of  none  effect  the  revelation  of  God. 
It  is  painful  for  us  to  answer  the  last  allegation  that  is 
brought  against  us:  "that  of  affecting  to  treat  the  gos- 
pel with  contumely."  We  never  have  treated  Christiani- 
ty with  contempt.  We  never  have  attempted  to  ridicule 


THE     SAVAGE.  57 

its  rites  or  its  ceremonies,  or  deny  the  divine  authority  of 
its  precepts.  We  have  always  expressed  our  admiration 
of  its  maxims  of  morality;  and  we  revere,  with  pious 
enthusiasm,  its  divine  founder;  but  we  are  not  disposed 
to  eulogize  all  those  who  call  themselves  by  his  name. 
We  blame  not  their  Christianity,  if  they  have  any,  but 
their  departure  from  the  line  of  conduct  marked  out  by 
the  precepts  of  the  gospel.  Hereafter,  when  we  say  any 
thing  against  those  who  are  called  christians,  let  it  not 
be  supposed  that  we  oppose  the  doctrines  which  they 
affect  to  believe:  we  only  complain  of  the  want  of  con- 
formity between  their  professions  and  practice.  It  has 
been  said  that  a  historian,  in  order  to  be  faithful  and  un- 
prejudiced should  be  of  no  country  and  no  religion;  why 
may  it  not  be  suposed  necessary  for  our  savage  to  have 
the  same  negative  qualifications? 

With  Flommgo,  personally,  the  public  have  no  con- 
cern: he  is  a  savage  by  nature,  and  so  we  suppose,  he 
must  remain.  His  observations  are  before  the  world: 
if  they  will  not  "bear  examination,"  let  them  fall.  Pio- 
mingo  is  not  solicitous  about  their  fate.  He  once  cherish- 
ed a  hope  of  literary  fame,  but  that  hope,  with  many 
others,  is  extinguished.  He  feels  grateful  to  "A"  for 
the  philosophy  contained  in  the  verses ;  but  has  no  great 
regard  for  any  observations  of  Sterne. 


Prudence  Hall,  Oct.  5,  1809. 

Piomingo,  are  you  a  bona  fide  savage?  By  my  con- 
science, I  -would  be  glad  to  see  you.  Where  the  devil 
have  you  built  your  wigwam?  I  have  been  looking  for 
it,  these  three  or  four  days,  all  along  the  banks  of  Schuyl- 
kill, and  over  in  Hamilton's  woods;  but  my  labor  has 
been  in  vain.  I  went  into  half  a  hundred  dismal  dirty- 
looking  hovels  on  the  Commons,  where,  by  my  soul,  I 
saw  savages  enough,  but  no  Indians.  Where  have  you 
disposed  of  yourself?  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  see  you ; 
but  not  altogether  through  idle  curiosity.     If  you  will 


58  THE    SAVAGE. 

favor  me  with  an  interview,  I  have  something  to  propose 
that  will  prove  greatly  advantageous  to  us  both. 

I  will  just  give  you  a  hint  of  my  business  by  letter, 
that  you  may  be  the  more  readily  induced  to  permit  me 
to  explain  matters  fully  in  my  proper  person. 

You  are  a  savage,  a  coppercolored  savage — Good. 
You  are  tall  and  slender,  with  black  eyes  and  long 
coarse  black  hair — Good.  You  have  high  cheekbones — 
Very  good.  You,  without  doubt,  wear  jewels  in  your 
nose,and  have  split  and  distended  the  lobes  of  yourears 
— Excellent,  most  excellent?  I  would  rather  possess  the 
advantages  just  enumerated  than  be  emperor  of  the 
Gauls.  Only  make  the  proper  use  of  the  directions  I 
fehall  give  you,  and  you  will  have  the  wealth  of  this  popu- 
lous city  at  command.  But  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
if  you  adopt  my  plan,  one  half  of  the  profits — you  com- 
prehend— one  half  of  the  profits  must  be  appropriated 
to  the  use  of  the  original  genius  who  invented  the 
scheme. 

But,  before  I  unfold  my  plan,  permit  me  to  express 
my  astonishment  at  your  conduct.  You  appear  to  have 
some  odd  kind  of  intelligence;  and  you  inform  us  that 
you  are  fifty  years  of  age:  what  then,  in  the  name  of 
common  sense,  do  you  mean  by  preaching  musty  ser- 
mons on  morals,  and  prating  about  virtue  and  honor, 
and  the  like?  If  you  be  a  fool  at  fifty  years  of  age,  you 
will  be  a  fool  as  long  as  you  live,  and  longer  too.  But  I 
suppose  you  are  a  deep  one.  You  mean  to  amuse  us 
awhile  with  your  fair  speeches,  and  then  make  a  bold 
stroke  at  our  pockets.  If  such  be  your  intention,  here 
is  my  hand — you  will  find  me  a  useful  associate  in  any 
scheme  of  honorable  roguery  you  may  have  in  contem- 
plation. For,  (do  you  mark  ?)  I  have  too  much  principle 
to  engage  in  any  dishonest  practices  that  might  endan- 
ger my  neck;  but  I  am  the  very  lad  that  can  impose  up- 
on the  world  in  a  genteel  way,  you  understand  me?  The 
world  is  overspread  with  fools;  who  appear  to  me  like 
a  vast  field  of  grain  ready  for  the  sickle.  Men  of  genius 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  enter  in  and  reap.    The  task 


THE    SAVAGE.  59 

is  not  difficult;  we  have  only  to  study  their  weaknesses, 
follies,  passions,  and  prejudices,  and  improve  them  to. 
our  own  advantage.  Every  man  may  be  gulled  some 
way  or  other.  If  he  will  not  bite  at  a  minnow,  he  may 
at  a  worm.  Labor  omnia  vincit  improbus:  that  is  my 
motto;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  I  am  seldom  unsuccessful 
in  my  undertakings.  But  the  scheme  I  am  about  to  pro- 
pose is  liable  to  no  risk.  It  is  an  ingenious  advantage 
taken  of  a  universal  weakness;  and  cannot  miscarry. 
Let  us  come  to  the  point.  You  shall  set  up  for  a  phy- 
scian,and  inform  she  public,  in  a  pompous  advertise- 
ment in  all  the  daily  papers,  that  you  studied  physic  ma- 
ny years  under  the  celebrated  Kaioka;  that  you  are  per- 
fectly well  acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  nature;  that 
you  have  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  simples  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom;  that  you  spent  many  years  in  col- 
lecting, with  your  own  hands,  an  immense  multitude  of 
plants  in  the  Appalachian  mountains;  that  you  have 
dried  them  with  sedulous  care,  or  extracted  their  vir- 
tues and  preserved  their  essences  as  inestimable  reme- 
dies for  all  the  diseases  to  which  the  human  frame  is 
subject;  thatyou  are  instructed  in  all  the  occult  sciences 
and  supernatural  learning  of  the  ever  memorable  Kaio- 
ka; that  you  are  a  perfect  master  of  every  species  of  pow- 
wowing; that  you  can  ease  the  aking  of  a  tooth,  and 
charm  away  the  "grief  of  wound;"  that  you  are  pro- 
foundly skilled  in  venereal  complaints,  and  can  afford 
immediate  relief  without  the  assistance  of  mercury;  that 
you  have  paid  particular  attention  to  the  nature  of 
female  complaints,  and  have  suitable  remedies  for  all 
their  indispositions — adding,  that  your  secrecy  and  honor 
may  be  depended  on;  that  you  have  devoted  much  of 
your  time  to  the  consideration  of  those  diseases  that  re- 
sult from  dissipated  pleasures,  immoderate  use  of  spi- 
rituous liquors,  residence  in  climates  unfavorable  to  the 
constitution,  and  juvenile  indiscretions,  and  you  feel 
yourself  happy  in  announcing  to  the  afllicted  that  you 
are  able  to  renovate  their  constitutions  and  restore  their 
pristine  health  aud  vigor;  that  you  are  possessed  ofcer- 


60  THE    SAVAGE. 

tain  arcana  that  are  absolutely  unknown  to  civilized  na- 
tions, which  will  enable  you  to  perform  cures  that  will 
astonish  the  world ;  that  you  have  supernatural  cordials, 
balms,  and  restoratives,  without  number:  that  you  have 
hypersupercarbonated  waterproof  liquid  blacking  for 
boots  and  shoes,  deathdealing  poison  for  rats  and  mice, 
imperial  unguents  for  the  itch,  and  worm-murdering 
lozenges  for  children;  that  you  have  specifics  for  every 
disease,  and  salves  for  every  sore;  that  you  have  tinc- 
tures and  lovepowders,  eyewaters  and  cornplasters; 
that  you  have  cosmetics  of  supereminent  efficacy,  ce- 
lestial perfumes  and  milk  of  the  roses  of  Paradise;  that 
you  have  a  beautifying  lotion,  invented  by  the  princess 
Onasycocoquahanamahala,  which  will  remove  pimples 
and  freckles,  and  scars,  and  make  the  skin  white  and 
smooth  and  soft  as  the  downy  feathers  on  an  angel's 
wing;  that  you  have  a  tincture  of  amaranthine  flowers 
that  bloomed  in  the  gardens  of  the  lovely  Osyona,  which 
being  used  daily  will  preserve  beauty  to  the  latest  pe- 
riod of  life,  and  even  give  to  wrinkled  age  the  appear- 
ance of  youth. 

When  you  have  enumerated  these  things  and  a  hun- 
dred others,  you  may  conclude  your  advertisement  with 
observing  that,  from  many  years  extensive  and  success- 
ful practice  in  the  capital  of  the  Muscogulgees,  you 
natter  yourself  that  you  can  more  than  give  satisfaction 
to  those  who  may  apply  for  your  assistance. 

After  shis  advertisement  has  been  some  time  in  cir- 
culation, you  must  publish  a  list  of  your  soul-relieving, 
body-restoring  and  world-astonishing  medicines.  You 
must  invent  new  and  unheard-of  titles  for  your  nos- 
trums, and  express  yourself  on  all  occasions  in  the  most 
bombastic  and  unintelligible  manner.  You  must  de- 
claim rotundo  ore, and  tear  every  subject  to  tatters  that 
falls  in  your  power.  You  must  outpuff  the  puffers  of 
this  puffing  people,  and  strike  dumb  the  altiloquence  of 
the  immortal  vendor  of  the  barbal  alkahest,  and  dia- 
mond paste  by  the  terrisonous  explosion  of  your  altison- 
ant and  ceraunic  magniloquy! 


THE    SAVAGE.  61 

You  have  only  to  show  your  olive  phiz,  utter  some 
Muscognlgee  gibberish  and  heathen  Greek  jawbreakers, 
and,  by  the  god  of  knaves,  the  whole  praetice  of  the 
city  is  your  own.  Who  could  withstand  such  soft  majes- 
tic words,  pouring  from  your  sweet  old  ugly  copperco- 
lorcd  mouth,  with  a  damned  crowbar  run  through  your 
nose,  a  new  moon  on  your  breast,  and  silver  pendants 
dangling  from  your  ears?  Money,  my  dear  Piomingo, 
money  will  pour  in  upon  you,  as  the  waters  pour  upon  the 
earth,  when  the  windows  of  heaven  are  opened.  When 
life  is  in  danger,  men  draw  forth  their  reluctant  dollars. 

This  is  the  flood  of  fortune.  Can  you  hesitate?  You 
cannot,  certainly,  doubt  of  your  abilities  to  impose  up- 
on the  world.  In  fact,  there  is  nothing  necessary  but  a 
sufficiency  of  impudence. 

When  you  are  called  to  visit  a  patient,  you  have  only 
to  feel  his  pulse,  bid  him  thrust  out  his  tongue,  and  then, 
laying  your  forefinger  by  the  side  of  your  nose,  pretend 
to  meditate  for  some  time.  There  is  no  necessity  that 
you  should  pay  the  smallest  attention  to  the  sufferer 
during  the  few  minutes  that  you  stay  in  the  room.  You 
may  strut  about,  look  at  the  curtains,  pictures,  &c.  and 
examine  your  own  lovely  person  in  a  mirror:  a  physi- 
cian, having  been  long  conversant  with  sickness, sorrow, 
groans,  and  death,  it  is  not  expected  that  he  should 
discover  any  symptoms  of  humanity.  When  any  ques- 
tions are  asked  by  the  relatives  of  the  patient,  you  must 
remember  to  give  ambiguous  oracular  responses:  thus 
your  credit  wiil  be  preserved  let  the  case  terminate  as 
it  may.  Should  any  one  demand  to  be  informed  of  the 
nature  of  the  disease,  you  must  look  learned,  mutter 
something  about  the  cerebrum  and  cerebellum,  cardia 
and  pericardium,  obstructed  perspiration  and  the  peris- 
taltic motion:  the  inquirer  will  be,  not  only  satisfied, 
but  highly  pleased  that  you  considered  him  capable  of 
understanding  your  discourse.  You  must  talk  much  of 
the  number  of  your  patients,  of  the  necessity  of  attend- 
ing a  consultation,  and  hurry  away,  leaving  "Kaiokcfs 
pills"  or  a  "tinctureof  life  everlasting" 


62 


THE    SAVAGE. 


Should  the  sufferer  recover,  that  recovery  will  be  at- 
tributed to  the  efficacy  of  your  vegetable  specific; 
should  he  die,  you  may  lay  the  blame  on  the  careless- 
ness of  the  attendants  in  not  administering  properly 
your  inestimable  medicine,  or  on  the  obstinacy  of  the 
patient  in  refusing  to  regulate  his  conduct  by  your  di- 
rections; and,  after  his  death,  you  must  remember  fre- 
quently to  make  some  such  observation  as  the  following: 
"Had  Mr.  Weakly  taken  my  preparation  as  directed, 
he  would  have  been  a  living  man  at  this  day." 

Your  savage  appearance,  your  outlandish  speech,  and 
your  consummate  impudence,  will  insure  the  success  of 
our  scheme.  Men  are  always  credulous;  but  when  the 
body  is  debilitated  and  the  mind  enfeebled  by  long  con- 
tinued sickness,  there  is  nothing  they  may  not  be  in- 
duced to  believe.  A  bold  impostor  may  rule  them  with 
absolute  authority,  and,  by  raising  and  depressing  their 
spirits  as  circumstances  may  require,  draw  the  last  cent 
from  their  pockets.  He  must  make  them  feel  diseases 
that  never  existed,  and  then  administer  cures  for  the 
complaints  of  his  own  creation.  He  must  "speak 
peace"  to  the  dying,  when  "there  is  no  peace;'5  and 
terrify  these  who  are  like  to  live  with  imaginary  dan- 
gers. 

Here  is  a  wide  field  for  the  exertions  of  a  man  of  genius, 
who  studies  his  own  interest  and  pursues  steadily  the 
means  that  are  necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  his 
purposes.  But  he  must  not  be  disturbed  by  any  foolish 
qualms  of  conscience,  or  childish  sympathising  sensa- 
tions. No:  his  heart  must  be  stone;  his  hand,  iron; 
and  his  face,  brass. 

How  unlucky  it  was  that  I  should  not  have  been  born 
black,  or  red,  or  even  yellow.  Had  1  the  color  of  an 
African,  a  Hindoo,  an  Arabian,  or  a  Cherokee,  I  could 
carry  my  plans  into  operation  without  the  assistance  of 
another;  but  as  it  is,  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  procur- 
ing some  one  to  execute  that  which  I  am  fully  capable 
of  projecting.  This  head,  Piomingo,  this  head  of  mine, 
is  invaluable.     O  what  great  schemes  have  perished  in 


THE   SAVAGE.  63 

embryo,  for  want  of  hands  to  embody  those   sublime 
ideas  which  have  originated  in  my  brain! 

I  once  endeavored  to  educate  and  instruct  a  great 
flatfootedknockkneed  humpbacked  blubberlipped  splay- 
mouthed  wpolyheaded  negro  in  the  art  and  mystery  of 
quackery.  His  person  was  exactly  the  thing!  wished: 
and  he  was  uncommonly  shrewd,  and  as  impudent  as 
the  devil.  I  meant  to  have  introduced  him  to  the  world 
as  a  physician  from  Angola.  He  appeared  well  con- 
tented to  be  called  doctor  Quassia,  and  to  have  money 
in  his  pocket;  but  when  I  began  to  explain  the  secrets 
of  the  profession,  he  rejected  my  offers  with  disdain. 
He  gravely  asserted  that  he  could  not  reconcile  it  to  his 
conscience  (his  conscience!  only  think  of  that!  the 
black  rascal  pretended  to  have  a  conscience !)  to  engage 
in  the  prosecution  of  my  plan ;  that  it  was  cruel  to  sport 
with  the  miseries  of  our  fellow  creatures;  that  it  was 
wicked  to  take  advantage  of  the  weaknesses  and  follies 
of  mankind;  that  our  medicines  would  never  do  good, 
and  might  do  much  harm;  that  we  should  prevent  the 
afflicted  from  applying  to  those  who  might  be  able  to 
afford  them  relief;  that  we  should  destroy  the  constitu- 
tions of  the  healthy,  and  hurry  the  feeble  out  of  the 
world  when  they  might  otherwise  have  lived  for  years — 
"What,"  cried  I, "Quassia,  are  you  mad?  Is  it  not  a  law 
of  nature  that  the  strong  should  prey  upon  the  weak? 
that  the  tiger  should  lie  in  wait  for  the  stag?  and  that 
the  great  fishes  should  devour  the  small?  Dear  Quassia, 
only  think  of  that  all  destroying  animal,  man;  does  he 
not  make  a  prey  of  every  creature  that  is  subject  to  his 
power?  But  you  must  know  that  men  not  only  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  weakness  of  all  inferior  animals;  but  of 
the  frailties  and  misfortunes  of  their  own  species.  Only 
look  through  the  world  and  see  how  they  delude,  destroy 
and  tyrannize  over  each  other.  There  is  no  right  but 
might;  there  is  no  law  but  power."  Thus  I  attempted 
to  reason  with  him;  but  in  vain.  He  was  stubborn  as  a 
mule;  and  I  was  obliged  to  dismiss  him. 

Since  that  time  I  have  never  attempted  to  renew  my 


u 


THE    SAVAGE, 


project  until  the  present  moment.     You,  Piomingo,  are 
advanced  in  years  and  consequently  know  the  world. 
Let  us  join  our  forces  and  go  forth  to  battle.     We  are 
sure  of  victory;  and  great  will  be  the  spoil. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be  &c. 

Epiiraim  Headwork. 

We  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  at  the  im- 
pudence of  the  scoundrel  in  making  such  a  proposal  to 
us.  In  the  first  transports  of  our  fury  we  started  up  with 
a  full  determination  to  search  him  out  and  offer  him  up 
as  a  sacrifice  to  our  insulted  honor;  but  reflection  soon 
showed  us  the  folly  of  our  passion.  There  was  no  great 
probability  that  we  could  find  him;  and  if  we  should, 
very  possibly  we  might  not  be  able  to  chastise  him.  We 
therefore  calmed  our  agitated  spirits,  and  resolved  to 
rest  satisfied  with  exposing  to  the  world  the  projects  of 
Mr.  Headwork;  and  this  we  have  fully  done  by  publish- 
ing his  letter. 

The  epistle,  we  have  had  the  honor  of  receiving, 
sheds  a  blaze  of  light  on  a  subject  which,  before,  ap- 
peared to  us  to  be  involved  in  the  greatest  obscurity. 
We  had  long  observed  advertisements  in  the  public  pa- 
pers which  announced  infallible  remedies  for  every'dis- 
ease.  Cures  innumerable,  authenticated  by  the  most 
respectable  names,  demanded  our  implicit  belief:  yet 
still  we  heard  the  frequent  tolling  of  the  bells,  which 
proclaimed  the  daily  departure  of  souls,  and  we  met  in 
the  streets  the  melancholy  hearse  which  conveyed  the 
lifeless  body  to  the  grave !  We  were  amazed  at  the  ob- 
stinacy of  the  people.  Why  should  they  die,  when 
health  and  life  courted  their  acceptance?  Ephraim 
Headwork's  letter  has  explained  the  mystery. 

But  is  it  not  strange  that  an  enlightened  and  civilized 
people  should  suffer  themselves  to  be  deluded,  in  a  mat- 
ter of  such  consequence,  by  every  arrogant  pretender? 
When  a  watch  or  any  other  machine  of  the  like  na- 
ture is  damaged  by  any  casualty,  it  is  sent  to  some  skil- 
ful mechanic  who  understands  its  structure,  and  is  there- 


THE    SAVAGE.  65 

fore  qualified  to  rectify  that  which  iswrcng:  and  when 
the  human  body,  a  most  complex  piece  of  machinery, 
becomes  deranged  in  its  parts,  or  disordered  in  its  oper- 
ations, how  can  we  expect  to  have  it  regulated  by  the 
hand  of  daring  and  unprincipled  ignorance? 

A  multitude  of  laws  is  one  of  the  distinguishing  cha- 
racteristics of  civilization:  why  then  are  there  no  laws 
against  quackery?  Shall  property  be  protected  by  in- 
numerable statutes,  and  life  and  health  be  left  at  the 
mercy  of  every  one  who  has  the  hardihood  to  assert 
and  persist  in  a  falsehood? 


The  following  pieces,  to  wit: — "  What  is  Truth '/"  "De- 
sire of  distinction''  and  "Theology"  should  have  been  in- 
serted in  the  first  number.  But  they  were  torn  from  the 
copy  of  the  work  with  which  the  printing  of  this  edition* 
was  commenced,  and  we  were  unable  to  procure  an- 
other, until  it  was  too  late  to  insert  them  in  their  proper 
order.  The  reader,  however,  will  see  that  this  trans- 
position is  unimportant,  as  the  pieces  are  not  connected 
with  any  others.  Publisher. 

WHAT  IS  TRUTH! 

What  is  truth?  This  inquiry  has  been  made  by  thou- 
sands in  all  ages  o(  the  world,  yet  still  remains  unan- 
swered. We  have  neither  discovered  what  it  is,  nor 
where  it  may  be  found.  Some  of  the  ancients  went  down 
to  look  for  this  jewel  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  They 
said  that  truth  was  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  probably  to 
signify  that  it  was  acquired  by  immense  labor  and  with 
great  difficulty.  These  philosophers  have  thought  pro- 
per to  bring  up  truth  from  the  shades;  but  a  much  more 
numerous  class  has  deduced  its  origin  from  above.  Was 
it  the  angel  Gabriel  that  brought  down  the  leaves  of 
the  koran  for  the  illustrious  Mohammed?  These  were 
•aid  to  contain  the  very  quintescence  of  truth,  and 
F2 


66  THE    SAVAGE. 

teach  every  thing  that  was  necessary  to  be  known  by 
the  children  of  men. 

How  many  gods,  and  how  many  goddesses,  at  differ- 
ent times,  have  left  the  starry  pavement  of  the  celestial 
regions  and  come  down  for  our  instruction  and  enter- 
tainment? Among  the  Greeks  and  among  the  Romans, 
how  many  sages  caught  inspiration!  how  many  sibyls 
uttered  the  oracles  of  the  divinity!  Yet,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  benevolent  exertions  of  gods  and  demi-gods, 
heroes  and  sages,  we  still  remained  enveloped  in  thick 
darkness  until  the  "dayspring  from  on  high"  shed  its 

effulgence  on  earth and  even  yet  we  grope  through 

a  darkness  that  may  be  felt;  we  wander  cheerlessly 
through  the  "valley  of  the  shadow  of  death"  where  no 
one  can  afford  us  assistance. 

What  is  truth?  and  where  can  it  be  found?  The  che- 
mist expectsHo  rind  it  in  his  crucible;  the  mathemati- 
cian sees  it  in  a  triangle,  a  circle,  or  a  parallelogram; 
and  the  metaphysician  discovers  it  in  the  eternal  fitness 
of  things. 

Great  was  the  search,  some  hundred  years  ago,  for 
the  philosopher's  stone,  for  the  alkahest,  and  lor  the 
elixir  of  life;  but  some  sceptics  assert  that  there  is  no 
philosopher's  stone,  no  alkahest,  no  elixir  of  life. 

Some  have  drawn  a  comparison  between  these  alche- 
mists and  the  investigators  of  truth:  they  assert  there 
is  no  truth  in  a  well;  they  aver  that  it  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  crucible  q(  the  chemist;  and  they  pronounce, 
without  hesitation,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  cir- 
cle, a  triangle,  or  a  parallelogram  in  nature.  They  say 
that  when  we  follow  truth  we  pursue  a  phantom  of  the 
imagination,  and  are  led  away  by  an  ignis  fatuus  which 
will  entice  us  forward  to  swamps  of  difficulty,  to  a  re- 
gion of  doubts  and  a  land  of  shadows.  They  tell  us 
that  the  theory  of  the  metaphysician  is  equally  erro- 
neous; that  there  is  no  eternal  fitness  of  things;  that 
there  is  nothing  but  discordance  and  opposition  in  rebus 
naturae. 

When  tired  with  this  sceptical  philosophy,  we  may 


THE    SAVAGE.  67 

listen  to  the  precepts  of  another  not  less  gloomy.  Truth, 
they  say,  may  exist,  hut  is  unworthy  of*  so  much  labor 
and  fatigue.  There  mny  he  such  a  thing  as  the  philo- 
sopher's slone — as  a  universal  dissolvent — as  tiic  elixir 
of  immortality;  but  the  discovery  would  be  productive 
of  the  most  serious  consequences  in  the  great  economy 
of  nat'/re.  Let  us  amuse  ourselves,  say  they,  with  the 
pleasing  delusions  of  life,  and  not  lose  our  time  in  search- 
ing after  realities.  Nature  has  hung  out  a  thousand 
painted  deceptions  to  hide  from  our  eyes  the  real  nature 
of  things.  Is  not  this  a  sufficient  intimation  that  that 
which  is  concealed  is  disagreeable?  Is  there  any  such 
thing  as  colors  inherent  in  bodies?  yet  without  this  pleas- 
ing illusion,  what  a  world  of  deformity  should  we  have! 
Nature  is  the  very  grave  of  abomination.  Well:  tear 
down  the  wall  of  the  whited  sepulchre,  and  within  you 
will  rind — "rottenness  and  dead  men's  bones."  O!  ye 
creatures  of  the  moment,  let  us  dance  after  the  rainbow 
of  hope,  and  revel  in  the  light  and  airy  fields  of  imagin- 
ation. Let  us  skim  lightly  over  the  surface  of  nature;  the 
flowers  grow  on  the  surface;  and  honey  may  be  extracted 
from  flowers.  Let  us  be  content  with  the  trimming-,  the 
colorings,  the  hangings  that  immediately  meet  the  eye: 
they  are  designed  to  conceal  the  gloomy  walls  of  our 
apartment. 

Let  us  look  back  upon  our  past  lives  and  examine  our 
own  minds  (hat  we  may  see  if  there  be  not  more  happi- 
ness in  error  than  in  reality.  Which  have  be^n  our  hap- 
piest moments?  those,  in  which  we  have  searched  suc- 
cessfully into  the  nature  of  things?  those,  in  which  the 
light  of  truth  lias  beamed  upon  our  heads,  and  enabled 
us  to  discover,  with  precision,  the  surrounding  objects? 
I  am  afraid  that  the  result  of  our  investigation  will  be, 
that  our  days  of  bliss  were  days  of  ignorance;  and  we 
shall  be  led  to  conclude,  with  the  preacher,  that  in 
"much  knowledge  there  is  much  grief."  Should  we  not 
rather  endeavor  to  multiply  these  happy  delusions  than 
to  clear  them  away?  If  light  discover  nothing  but"sights 
of  wo,"  had  we  not  better  remain  in  darkness?  My  sick 


68  THE    SAVAGE. 

brother  is  asleep;  he  dreams  of  light,  life  and  joy.  I  see 
a  smile  on  his  countenance.  Shall  I  awake  him  to  a  life 
of  misery, sorrow  and  pain?  Or  shall  I  not  rather  re- 
move every  intruding  noise,  darken  the  windows,  and 
leave  him  to  repose? 

Children  are  happy :  and  were  men  content  to  remain 
children  through  life,  they  might  be  happy  also.  But 
when  they  become  infatuated  with  the  desire  of  know- 
ledge, and,  with  a  daring  hand,  attempt  to  remove  the 
veil  with  which  nature  has  thought  proper  to  cover  the 
ark  which  contains  her  secrets,  their  happiness  is  blight- 
ed. Foolish  men!  to  break  the  glasses  through  which 
their  mothers  and  nurses  were  content  to  receive  the  rays 
of  knowledge!  Foolish  men!  to  soar  with  waxen  wing? 
above  the  atmosphere  of  prejudice  which  surrounds  the 
dwellings  of  their  fathers!  Render  not,  O  ye  sons  of  men, 
the  common  occurrences  of  life  insipid,  by  your  folly, 
which  you  are  pleased  to  d  igni  fy  with  the  name  of  wisdom. 

Be  as  other  men.  Seize  the  rattle  of  folly;  dance  to 
the  piping  of  a  giddy  multitude;  write  treatises  con- 
cerning eternity  in  the  sand;  build  pyramids  of  snow 
to  immortalize  your  names;  erect  dams  with  gray  haired 
children  in  the  mountain  torrent;  and  sport  with  your 
brother  insects  in  the  sunbeams  of  the  evening. — But 
should  truth  present  her  flambeau  to  your  eyes — the 
illusion  is  gone — the  "painted  clouds  that  beautify  our 
days"  are  vanished;  and — great  God!  what  a  waste — 
"dark  dismal  wild" — appears!  What  a  chaos  of  forms 
without  reality!  What  myriads  of  shadows,  without 
substance,  fleet  through  a  universe  of  nonentities! 

Fiction  is  lovely;  O  ye  sons  of  men,  rejoice  in  her 
smiles:  but  fly  from  the  chambers  of  Truth;  she  is  a 
gorgon,  a  hydra, a  fury! — 

What  shall  we  say,  when  we  hear  the  various  opinions 
of  men  on  these  subjects?  What  shall  we  do,  but  mourn 
over  the  folly,  the  imbecility,  the  insanity  of  man! 


THE    SAVAGE.  69 


DESIRE  OF  DISTINCTION. 

The  desire  of  distinction  is  so  strong  in  the  human 
mind,  that  men  lay  hold  of  any  thing  however  insigni- 
ficant (hat  may  render  them  conspicuous.  Is  a  man,  by 
some  accidentia  few  inches  taller  than  another;  you  may 
immediately  perceive  that  he  values  himself  on  his  tow- 
ering figure.  Is  he  well  set,  and  possessed  of  brawny 
limbs;  you  will  find  him  anxiously  contending  for  pre- 
eminence by  measuring  round  the  breast  or  taking  the 
circumference  of  the  thigb,  with  his  athletic  competitors. 

I  cannot  remember  of  having  observed  any  of  these 
candidates  for  fame  who  were  desirous  of  the  distinction 
arising  from  the  prominence  of  their  bellies;  yet  nothing 
is  more  common  than  to  hear  a  man  boast  of  having 
swallowed  so  many  oysters,  eaten  so  many  eggs,  de- 
voured so  many  pounds  of  beef  steaks,  &c.  What  honor 
do  these  idiots  expect  to  derive  from  the  strength  of 
their  stomachs  or  the  capacity  of  their  paunches? 

Why,  they  hope  to  have  it  said  in  some  tavern  or 
beerhouse  that  "John  Gormand  is  the  damnedest  fellow 
to  eat  that  ever  lived.  He  demolished,  the  other  day,  at 
the  sign  of  the  Mousetrap,  a  whole  round  of  beef,  eatten 
dozen  of  oysters,  ten  dozen  of  eggs,  five  pound  of  cheese, 
drank  a  gallon  of  beer,  and  then  refused  to  pay  25  cents 
for  his  dinner,  because  there  was  not  a  sufliciency  of 
provisions." 

I  knew  two  graziers  to  lay  a  very  considerable  bet  on 
who  could  eat  the  most  lobster.  Both  eat  till  they  could 
not  walk  and  then  left  the  matter  undetermined.  The 
gentlemen  were  wealthy:  they  did  not  gormandize  for 
the  money  that  was  betted,  but  for  the  sake  of  an  in* 
mortal  name.  Such  men  appear  determined  to  deprive 
"Robin  a  Bobbin  the  Bigbellied  Hen"  of  his  long  es- 
tablished superiority:  of  whose  exploits,  in  this  way, it 
is  recorded  in  heroic  verse  that  "he  would  eat  more  than 
threescore  men;"  that 

"A  cow  and  a  calf, 
An  ox  and  a  half, 


70  THE    SAVAGE. 

Was  Robin  a  Bobbin's  morning  bit." 

And  afterwards,  it  is  sublimely  added,  that 

uHe  licked  the  ladle,  anil  swallowed  the  spoon, 
And  was  not  full  when  all  was  done." 

There  are  others,  who  are  scarcely  less  deserving  of  a 
statue  than  those  last  mentioned,  who  plume  themselves 
on  having  drunk  bottles  of  brandy,  decanted  dozens  of 
madeira,  and  swilled  oceans  of  port.  Such  heroes  shall 
have  a  niche  in  the  Temple  of  Fame,  about  to  be  es- 
tablisheh  under  the  direction  of  the  savage  Piomingo. 


THEOLOGY. 

The  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  worshipped  a  multi- 
tude of  gods:  the  heavens,  the  earth,  and  hades  swarm- 
ed with  innumerable  divinities.  All  the  virtues  and  vices 
of  humanity,  and  all  the  operations  of  nature,  were  un- 
der the  direction  of  superintending  deities:  and  these 
gods  being  unaccountably  prolific,  there  was  no  space 
left  in  nature  that  did  not  teem  with  their  progeny.  The 
progress  of  science  and  the  light  of  the  gospel  have  con- 
tributed to  lessen  the  number  of  immortals.  Jupiter  has 
forsaken  the  Capitol,  the  thunder  has  been  wrested  from 
his  hand,  and  the  father  of  gods  and  men  is  forgotten. 
Neptune  has  lost  the  dominion  of  the  waves,  and  Pluto, 
the  empire  of  the  shades.  The  sun  is  no  longer  in  the 
chariot  of  Apollo,  nor  the  moon  under  the  regency  of 
his  sister.  Paphos  and  Cyprus  are  deserted  by  Venus, 
and  Samos  and  Argos  by  Juno.  Mercury  has  lost  his 
wand,  and  Pallas  her  egis.  Etna  and  Lemnos  remain; 
but  where  is  the  blacksmith  of  Jupiter?  The  wind  raises 
the  waves  without  the  assistanceof  Eolus,  and  the  storm 
is  calmed  without  the  interference  of  Neptune.  Bac- 
chus is  deprived  of  his  thyrsis,  and  the  mysteries  of 
Ceres  are  secure  from  profanation.  Thetis  and  the  ne- 
reids  are  no  more;  we  hear  not  the  shell  of  the  tritons. 
The  dryads  and  hamadryads  have  forsaken  the  woods, 
and  the  naiads  deserted  the  fountains.     Hippocrene  is 


THE    SAVAGE.  71 

dry;  the  muses  have  escaped  to  heaven.  The  shepherds 
have  lost  the  protection  of  Pan,  and  the  orchards  the 
care  of  Pomona.  Priapus  has  ceased  to  "fray  away*'  the 
birds,or  interrupt  the  incantation  of  witches.  No  longer 

'•Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys  are  seen, 
Peeping  from  fortli  their  alleys  green." 

The  harpies  are  expelled  from  their  kingdom;  and  the 
sirens  have  ceased  to  practice  their  allurements. 

Charon  has  been  shipwrecked  in  the  Styx;  Ccberus 
has  been  deprived  ot  his  heads;  and  the  snakes  have 
been  taken  from  the  furies.  Minos  is  no  longer  judge; 
Phlcgcthon  has  ceased  to  burn;  and  the  frogs  of  hell 
have  desisted  from  croaking.  The  wheel  of  Ixion  re- 
volves no  longer;  the  Danaides  have  filled  their  urns; 
and  Sisyphus  rests  from  his  labors.  The  pythia  is  not 
forced  to  the  tripod;  the  cave  of  Trophoni  us  is  neglected; 
and  the  smoke  of  the  sacrifice  has  ceased  to  ascend. — 
Where  is  the  oak  of  Dodona?  where  arc  the  sibyls  of 
Cuma? 

But  there  is  one  of  the  ancient  divinities  who  has 
maintained  his  situation  in  opposition  to  the  efforts  of 
philosophy  and  the  benign  influence  of  the  gospel.  He 
is  worshipped  with  more  sincere  devotion  at  this  day, 
than  he  has  been  at  any  former  period.  His  temples 
are  crowded  from  morning  until  evening  by  humble  vo- 
taries of  all  sexes  and  ages.  They  do  not  serve  him 
with  "mere  lip  service;"  for  they  have  "his  law  written 
in  their  hearts."  He  is  not  the  true  God:  yet  they  adore 
him  "with  all  their  heart,  and  with  all  their  soul,  and 
with  all  their  strength,  and  with  all  their  mind."  They 
offer  up  at  his  shrine,  as  freewill  offerings,  every  thing 
that  is  precious  and  valuable.  He  is  not  Moloch ;  yet  they 
make  their  children  pass  through  the  fire  for  his  sake. 

He  is  a  very  old  god,  and  has  performed  innumerable 
exploits  of  the  most  heroic  kind.  A  thousand  volumes, 
in  folio,  would  not  be  sufficient  to  contain  the  thousandth 
part  of  the  wonders  he  has  effected.  What  are  the  la- 
bors of  Hercules,  the  feats  of  Samson,  the  wars  of  the 
giants,  the  building  of  pyramids,  the   turning  aside  of 


72  THE    SAVAGE. 

rivers,  and  removing  mountains?  What  are  such  trifles 
as  these  when  compared  with  the  stupendous  operations 
of  the  god  of  the  civilized  world? 

Question:  Who  is  he? 

Answer:  He  was  worshipped  by  the  children  of  Is- 
rael in  the  wilderness,  when  Moses  tarried  so  long  in 
the  mount.     Do  you  know  him? 

There  arc  not  seven  thousand  in  the  United  States, 
who  have  not  bowed  the  knee  to  this  Baal  of  the  mo- 
derns, and  whose  lips  have  not  kissed  him.  By  the  an- 
cients he  was  called  Plutus;  in  heaven,  he  is  not  known; 
and  on  earth,  he  is  yclept  The  Mammon  of  unrighteous- 
ness. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  VI. 
VIRTUE. 

It  has  already  been  proved,  that  the  direct  tendency 
of  what  is  called  civilization  is  to  create  and  perpetuate 
a  disparity  among  men;  and,  that  as  civilization  progresses 
the  number  of  the  refined  is  diminished  and  that  of  the 
debased  and  degraded  part  of  the  community  increased 
in  the  like  proportion.  The  great  majority  of  the  people, 
therefore,  never  become  sharers  in  this  refinement 
which  is  so  highly  eulogized  by  authors  who  understand 
not  the  subject  they  have  undertaken  to  discuss.  They 
have  said  much  in  favor  of  the  diffusion  of  knowledge; 
but  knowledge  can  never  be  generally  diffused  under  the 
present  constitution  of  society.  How  can*  men  acquire 
knowledge  who  are  condemned,  by  their  necessities,  to 
neverending  labor?  Much  may  be  said  in  favor  of  those 
arts  which  humanize  the  mind,  and  soften  the  ferocious 
passions  of  man;  but  it  is  not  considered  that  this  hu- 
manized and  softened  being  requires  the  assistance  and 
servitude  of  a  dozen  beings,  who  are  brutalized  and  de- 
graded in  the  same  proportion  that  he  is  refined  and 
exalted. 

Hereafter  we  will  endeavor  to  form  a  proper  estimate 


THE    SAVAGE, 


of  the  enjoyments  of  the  polished  luxurious  man  who 
requires  that  others  should  be  miserable  and  wretched 
that  he  may  become  splendid  and  great:  at  present  we 
will  confine  our  ideas  to  that  immense  majority  of  man- 
kind, the  laboring  poor. 

Are  they  virtuous? 

When  a  man  of  this  description  becomes  capable  of 
reflection,  he  immediately  perceives  the  disadvantages 
:>f  his  situation :  there  are  privileges  to  which  he  must  not 
ispire;  there  are  enjoyments  of  which  he  must  not  par- 
take. He  linds  himself  necessitated  to  labor  continually 
for  a  wretched  subsistence,  while  others  enjoy  leisure, 
amusement  and  pleasure  without  any  exerton  of  their 
)wn.  These  circnmstances  have  a  natural  tendency  to 
-our  and  imbitter  his  mind.  Envy  and  malignity  take 
up  their  residence  in  his  heart;  but  as  he  sees  no  op- 
portunity of  improving  his  situation,  he  becomes  as  stu- 
pid as  an  "ass  couching  down  between  two  burdens." 
He  is  despised  by  the  world;  and  he  despises  himself. 
When  he  sees  that  he  is  utterly  contemptible  in  the 
estimation  of  others,  how  is  it  possible  that  he  should 
yaule  himself, or  retain  any.ideaof  personal  importance 
Dr  dignity  of  character?  It  is  not  possible. 

Honoris  a  powerful  incentive  to  virtuous  actions;  but 

:ionor  has  no  influnce  with  the  wretch  that  I  describe. 

Shame,  in  certain  societies,  will   prevent  a  man  from 

falling  into  vitious  pursuits ;  but  shame  has  no  power  over 

victim  of  relinemert.    He  is  already  contemptible, 

-led,   miserable:   what  more  can  he  fear? 

When  you  have  destroyed,  by  your  boasted  civiliza- 
tion, every  motive  to  virtue,  and  every  preventive  of 
vice,  in  the  great  body  of  the  people,  do  you  notwith- 
standing, expect  to  find  them  virtuous?  We  will  under- 
take to  say,  that  you  are  very  unreasonable  in  your  ex- 
pectations; and  that  you  will  most  assuredly  be  disap- 
pointed. We  assert  with  cnfidence  that  the  great  body 
of  the  poor,  in  every  civilized  society,  are  not  only  de- 
graded but  wicked  and  malignant.  Whence  arises  the 
multiplicity  of  your  laws,  but  from  the  multitude  of  crimes 
G 


74  THE    SAVAGE. 

that  are  found  in  the  mass  of  the  community?  They  are 
necessarily  vitious,  yet  the  circumstances  of  society  re- 
quire that  they  should  be  punished.  And  all  this  collec- 
tion of  miseries  and  crimes  is  created  and  supported  by 
the  sickly  and  effeminate  refinement  of  a  few,  who  have 
deserted  nature  and  sought  out  for  themselves  factitious 
and  enervating  enjoyments,  at  the  expense  of  the  virtue 
and  happiness  of  millions  of  their  species. 

Those  who  will  not  take  time  to  reflect,  may  suppose 
that  we  exaggerate  when  we  affirm  that  the  indigent 
man  is  compelled  by  the  circumstances  of  his  situation 
to  practise  continual  dissimulation.  He  dare  not,  he  can- 
not, approach  his  superior  with  the  easy  confidence  of 
virtue.  He  must  not  speak  what  is  true,  but  what  he 
supposes  will  be  agreeable.  His  neighbor  is  rich  and  con- 
sequently powerful;  he  must  therefore,  as  far  as  he  is 
able,  endeavor  to  countervail  this  ascendency,  by  flat- 
tery and  dissimulation.  He  asks  justice  as  a  favor,  and 
begs  the  contemptible  pittance  he  receives  for  his  labor 
with  the  whining  tone  of  a  mendicant. 

There  is  no  object  in  nature  so  disgusting  as  to  see 
one  man  crawling  to  and  fawning  on  another.  We  may 
pity  the  base  grovelling  wretch,  but  we  must  and  do  de- 
spise him.  Can  this  creature  be  virtuous?  He  may  be 
deterred  from  atrocious  crimes  by  the  terrors  of  the  law; 
but  his  mind  is  necessarily  and  radically  depraved. 

The  necessity  that  the  indigent  man  is  under,  of  re- 
ceiving favors  from  the  hand  of  opulence,  humbles  and 
enervates  the  mind.  One  man  may  safely  receive  benefits 
from  another  if  he  have  it  in  his  power  to  make  a  suitable 
return;  but  the  moment  he  incurs  an  obligation  from 
which  he  cannot  disengage  himself  at  pleasure,  that  mo- 
ment he  becomes  a  slave.  His  mind  is  brought  into  thral- 
dom, and  his  soul  is  obliged  to  acknowledge  a  master. 
The  supposed  benefactor  may  insult  him  with  impunity. 
He  can  turn  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left 
without  sullying  the  purity  of  his  virtue.  If  he  should 
resent  an  injury,  he  is  ungratetul ;  if  he  submit  in  silence, 
it  is  imputed  to  baseness  and  cowardice  of  spirit.    And 


THE    SAVAGE.  t  *) 

rv  thing  poverty  receives  from  wealth  is  accounted  a 
favor.  If  we  lend  a  rich  man  a  few  dollars,  it  is  consider- 
ed merely  as  an  act  of  common  courtesy,  and  we  think 
of  it  no  more:  but  if  we  lend  half  the  sum  to  a  man  who 
want;  what  then?  Why  we  conceive  that  we  lay 
him  under  an  eternal  obligation:  and  should  he  ever  after 
refuse  to  comply  with  our  demands,  however  unjust  or 
unreasonable,  we  publish  to  the  world  his  baseness  and 
ingratitude,  and  extol  to  the  skies  our  own  humanity  and 
beneficence. 

Should  an  indigent  neighbor  pass  through  our  field 
and  accidentally  do  some  slight  damage  to  our  property; 
if  we  do  not  prosecute  him  for  a  trespass,  we  are  loud 
in  the  praise  of  our  own  lenity  and  forbearance:  but  if 
the  trespasser  be  opulent,  though  the  damage  be  much 
greater,  we  are  pleased  that  he  has  presumed  upon  our 
good  nature,  and  thank  him  for  the  liberty  he  has  taken. 

Does  a  person  of  figure  and  genteel  address  accost  us 
in  the  street  and  desire  some  information  concerning  a 
neighboring  church  or  other  public  building,  we  attend 
to  his  requests  with  the  utmost  complaisance,  and  are 
highly  gratified  that  he  should  think  us  worthy  to  be  his 
intelligencer;  but  should  a  ragged  miserable  mortal  have 
the  assurance  to  make  the  same  demand,  we  are  aston- 
ished at  his  effrontery,  and  pass  him  with  a  glance  of 
the  most  sovereign  contempt — or,  admitting  that  we  had 
just  risen  from  dinner,  where  we  had  eaten  and  drunk 
freely,  and  consequently  were  in  that  happy  disposition 
of  mind  which  renders  us  averse  to  every  species  of 
contention — if,  from  all  these  causes,  we  should  return 
a  kindly  and  condescending  answer,  we  would  admire  our 
own  politeness  and  urbanity,  and  conceive  the  poor  de- 
vil to  be  under  infinite  obligations  to  our  good  nature. 

Now,  how  can  a  man  who  is  continually  receiving  fa- 
vors, and  feels  the  impossibility  of  making  suitable  re- 
turns, maintain  a  proper  degree  of  self  respect?  And 
the  man  who  has  no  respect  for  himself  will  be  careh  ss 
in  the  performance  of  duties  that  have  no  immediate 
connexion  with  his  interest. 


76  THE     SAVAGE. 

From  such  considerations  as  the  foregoing  we  deduce 
the  conclusion,  that  the  progress  of  civilization  is  unfa- 
vorable to  the  practice  of  virtue,  because  it  places  an 
immense  majority  of  the  human  race  in  a  situation 
which  renders  them  incapable  of  virtuous  exertions — 
in  a  situation  where  they  are  almost  inevitably  com- 
pelled to  become  villous.  [To  he  continued.'] 


JUSTICE. 

We  have  somewhere  read  of  a  people  who  asked  no- 
thing, in  their  prayers  to  the  gods,  but  justice.  In  this 
they  appear  to  have  done  wisely:  for,  had  they  asked  for 
any  thing  else,  can  it  be  supposed  that  their  requests 
would  have  been  granted? 

Justice  is  the  perfection  of  virtue:  it  may  be  sup- 
posed to  arise  from  the  relation  all  created  beings  bear 
to  each  other  and  to  their  creator.  From  all  these  rela- 
tions there  originate  certain  rights:  Whoever  acts  in 
conformity  with  these,  acts  justly;  but  whoever  violates 
them,  acts  unjustly. 

Ovid  says  that  the  goddess  of  justice  has  deserted  the 
earth;  and  we  believe  he  is  correct  in  the  assertion: 

Virgo  casde  madentes 

■    Ultima  crelestum  terras  Astrrra  reliquit. 

However,  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  she  was  the 
first,  and  not  the  last,  of  the  celestials  who  deserted  the 
earth  and  winged  their  flight  to  the  etherial  regions. 
One  thing  is  certain:  she  is  not  here. 

There  is  a  strange  Protean  being  who  has  usurped  her 
name,  but  possesses  none  of  her  qualities,  found  among 
us.  This  pseudo-justice  is  extremely  accommodating 
to  the  weaknesses  and  passions,  but  most  of  all  to  the 
interests  of  men.  She  studies  what  will  be  accounted 
the  interest  of  a  nation,  or  of  an  individual ;  and  she  says 
to  that  nation,  or  that  individual,  this  is  justice.  There  is 
one  thing  observable  in  her  conduct:  she  always  adheres 
to  the  strongest  side.  She  is  a  friend  to  good  order  and 
regular  government  as  long  as  government  is  able  to 
support  itself:  but  the  moment  that  its  weakness  is  dis- 


THE     SAVAGE.  77 

covered,  she  ranges  herself  on  the  side  of  anarchy  and 
confusion*  She  assisted  at  the  massacre  of  the  whites 
in  St.  Domingo,  and  is  an  advocate  for  the  slave  trade 
in  Jamaica.  In  Russia  she  speaks  in  favor  of  despotism; 
in  England  she  advocates  the  dominion  of  the  seas;  and 
in  France  she  brings  the  crowns  of  the  sovereigns  of 
rope  and  lays  them  at  the  feet  of  Napoleon.  She  is  n 
nice  observer  of  times,  places  and  circumstances.  She  is 
a  mahometan,  a  christian,  a  pagan,  a  catholic,  a  protes- 
tant,  a  royalist,  a  republican,  a  jacobin,  an  imperialist, 
as  the  power  shifts  from  the  hands  of  one  party  to  those 
of  the  other.  She  worships  the  rising  sun,  observes  the 
rourse  of  the  wind,  and  was  never  known  to  row  against 
ihe  tide. 


THE    GRAVE. 

When  Diogenes  was  about  to  die,  he  was  asked  what 
should  be  done  with  his  body.  The  cynic  ordered  it  to 
be  carried  out  and  left  unburied  in  the  fields.  "What," 
said  his  friends,  "shall  it  be  left  exposed  as  a  prey  to  the 
birds  and  wild  beasts?"  "Lay  a  staff  near  me,"  replied 
the  dying  philosopher,  "with  which  I  may  drive  them 
away."  "How  can  you  drive  them  away,"  demanded  his 
friends,  "since  you  will  not  perceive  them?"  "What 
harm  can  they  do  me,"  said  Diogenes,  "if  when  they 
devour  my  flesh,  I  do  not  perceive  them?" 

If  Diogenes  cared  as  little  about  the  disposal  of  his 
body  after  death  as  his  words  indicate,  he  had  divested 
himself  of  a  very  general  weakness;  for  the  most  of  men 
show  an  uncommon  solicitude  on  this  subject.  Some  de- 
sire to  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground,  supposing,  no 
doubt,  that  evil  spirits  will  be  afraid  to  disturb  them  with- 
in the  precincts  of  the  sanctuary.  Possibly  they  desire 
to  rest  among  the  saints,  that  they  may  have  good  com- 
pany in  the  grave;  or  at  least  may  be  found  among  the 
righteous  at  the  general  resurrection.  We  have  some 
times  supposed  that  they  were  apprehensive  that  they 
might  be  overlooked  by  the  eye  of  the  Eternal,  at  the 
G2 


78  THE    SAVAGE. 

great  day,  if  they  were  deposited  in  any  other  place 
than  a  churchyard. 

The  greater  part  of  mankind  express  a  wish  to  be  bu- 
ried near  their  relations  or  friends.  This  desire  is  very 
general,  and,  we  had  almost  said,  natural;  but  the  man 
who  has  experienced  the  perfidy  of  friends  and  the  cold- 
ness of  relations,  would  rather  be  buried  in  the  desert  or 
cast  into  the  ocean.  The  ancient  Jews,  who  appear  to 
have  had  very  faint  ideas  of  a  future  state,found  a  strange 
consolation  in  going  down  to  the  grave  in  peace  and 
sleeping^with  their  fathers. 

Socrates  declared  it  to  be  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
himhow  theydisposedof  his  body.  Another  philosopher, 
being  told  in  a  threatening  tone  by  a  tyrant,  that  he 
should  remain  unburied,  replied,  "Fool !  do  you  suppose 
that  I  care  whether  this  body  rot  above  ground  or  be- 
low ?"  Reason,  indeed,  informs  us  all,  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  no  consequence  what  becomes  of  the  body  when  the 
spirit  has  departed;  but  we  have  been  so  long  in  the 
habitof  connectinglife  and  feeling  with  the  human  frame, 
that  we  can  hardly  be  led  to  suppose  that  the  carcass  is 
totally  destitute  of  sensation.  The  custom  of  digging 
a  deep  pit  for  the  reception  of  the  dead,  and  leaving 
them  as  a  prey  for  worms  and  corruption  is  excessively 
disagreeable:  the  practice  of  burning  the  body  was  much 
more  decent,  and  had  not  a  tendency  to  awaken  so  many 
gloomy  and  loathsome  ideas.  The  urn  containing  the 
ashes  of  a  deceased  relative  might  be  deposited  in  our 
chamber  to  remind  us  continually  of  the  virtues  of  the 
-departed,  and  of  the  friendship  that  had  subsisted  be- 
tween us.  Who  would  not  rather  that  his  flesh  should 
beconsumed  by  the  action  of  fire,  than  undergo  an  abom- 
inable fermentation  in  the  grave?  Who  would  not 
rather  his  body  should  be  purified  by  the  flames,  than 
become  the  parent  and  the  nourishment  of  worms  ?  Who 
would  not  rather  ascend  in  smoke  to  the  clouds,  than 
become  an  inhabitant  of  darkness  and  the  grave?  Who 
would  not  rather  be  scattered  by  the  four  winds  of  hea- 
ven than  say  "to  corruption  thou  art  my  father  and  to 
the  worm  thou  art  my  sister  and  my  mother?" 


THE    SAVAGE.  79 

THE  STAGE   OF  LIFE. 

One  poet  has  said  that 

All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players; 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 

And  another  has  said,  in  an  imperative  style, 

Act  well  youc  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies. 

Does  he  mean  by  this  that  there  is  as  much  honor  in 
acting  well  in  an  inferior  station  as  in  a  superior?  Pope 
was  inspired,  no  doubt,  and  therefore  we  might  expect 
him  to  speak  the  truth;  but  we  have  read  of  "an  evil 
spirit  from  the  Lord,"  and  of  "a  lying  spirit  in  the  mouth 
of  all  the  prophets,"  and  we  conclude  that  Pope  must 
have  been  troubled  by  one  or  both  of  these. 

We  agree  that  the  world  may  be  considered  as  a  stage ; 
but  we  deny  that  honor  is  to  be  gained  by  performing 
well  an  inferior  part.  He  who  enacts  a  principal  charac- 
ter, if  he  sustain  his  part  with  dignity  and  propriety, 
may  expect  to  be  rewarded  by  the  plaudits  of  the  au- 
dience ;  but  who  will  applaud  the  industrious  and  diligent 
exertionsoftheprompter,scene-shifter,orcandle-snuifer? 
The  actor  who  struts  his  hour  in  the  character  of  Othel- 
lo, Macbeth,  or  Richard  the  third,  receives  an  honorary 
as  well  as  a  pecuniary  recompense ;  but  the  call-boy  and 
lamp-lighter,  however  perfect  in  their  par*s,  can  gain 
nothing  but  the  stipulated  hire.  Should  any  thing  go 
wrong  through  their  mismanagement,  they  may  be  sa- 
luted by  a  hiss;  but  the  thundering  voice  of  applause 
never  awakens  their  love  of  glory,  or  rewards  the  punc- 
tual discharge  of  their  servile  occupations. 

So  it  is  in  life:  an  Alexander  and  a  Cesar,  a  Brutus 
and  a  Cato,  a  Trajan  and  an  Antonine,  perform  their 
parts  on  the  wide  theatre  of  the  world,  in  the  sight  of 
admiring  nations,  who  arc  ever  ready  to  raise  the  song 
of  triumph  and  sing  hosannas  to  the  great.  Who  would 
not  be  a  hero,  when  encouraged  by  the  hopes  of  such  a 
reward?  Who  would  not  press  forward  in  the  race,  when 
a  crown  of  glory  is  in  view?  Who  would  not  encounter 
death, for  everlasting  fame? 


80  THE    SAVAGE. 

The  obscure  individual  can  have  no  such  motives. 
He  is  compelled  to  tread  the  ensanguined  field,  to  mount 
the  deadly  breach,  and  face  the  roaring  cannon.  If  he 
conquer,  he  is  despised;  if  he  die,  he  is  forgotten. 


CONVERSATION. 

When  five  or  six  men  are  together,  it  is  curious  to  ob- 
serve the  anxiety  every  one  has  to  speak.  No  one 
wishes  to  hear:  all  he  desires  is  an  auditor.  Rather  than 
defer  telling  their  respective  stories,  they  frequently  all 
speak  at  the  same  time. 

Every  one  has  a  subject  of  his  own  that  he  wishes  to 
introduce ;  therefore  he  is  miserable  until  he  has  an  oppor- 
tunity to  drag  it  in.  One  is  desirous  to  discuss  some  re- 
ligious subject;  another  would  engage  in  a  political  dis- 
quisition. One  would  talk  of  the  price  of  stocks;  and 
another  would  expatiate  on  the  merits  of  a  favorite  horse. 
The  glass  circulates,  and  the  confusion  becomes  general. 

The  Tower  of  Babel  would  be  an  excellent  sign  for 
a  modern  tavern. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  VIT. 
HAPPINESS. 

Was  itPlato  who  said  that  "the  more  we  live  for other«« 
the  more  we  live  for  ourselves?"  Whether  it  were  Plato 
or  another,  the  sentiment  appears  to  be  founded  on  a 
critical  acquaintance  with  human  nature.  Those  emo- 
tions that  carry  us  out  of  ourselves  and  interest  us  in  the 
concerns  of  others,  are  productive  of  infinitely  higher 
degrees  of  happiness  than  a  ny  personal  gratifications  can 
possibly  be.  Those  affections  of  the  mind  which  are  de- 
nominated benevolence  and  humanity  may  be  considered 
as  emanations  of  the  divine  nature.  They  make  us  for- 
get, in  a  moment,  all  those  paltry  avocations  that  occupy 
our  days  with  labor  and  our  nights  with  thought.  They 
suppress  the  cold  calculations  of  prudence,  the  gloomy 
forebodings  of  care,  the  aspiring  meditations  of  ambi- 


THE    SAVAGE.  81 

tion,  and  the  bewitching  delusions  of  pleasure.  They 
cany  us  away,  above  the  clouds  of  mortality,  to  the  third 
heaven  of  delight,  where  .we  experience  pleasures  not 
to  be  described,  and  joys  too  mighty  for  our  nature.  We 
breathe  the  air  of  the  celestial  regions:  the  earth  and 
all  its  evils,  sickness,  pain,  sorrow,  and  death  are  forgot- 
.  The  ecstacy  is  short:  but,  for  a  moment,  we  seem 
to  have  found  what  has  been  so  long  and  so  earnestly 
desired  by  men — happiness.  We  are,  like  Moses,  in  the 
••cleft  of  the  rock" — the  glory  of  the  Lord  passes  by; 
and  we  get  a  glimpse  of  its  brightness.  God  of  nature! 
remove  thy  hand,  and  let  the  vision  destroy  us! 

Perfect  happiness,  if  such  a  thing  be  designed  for 
man,  is  reserved  for  a  future  state,  when  we  shall  be  put 
in  possession  of  the  great  goou — when  we  shall  forget 
ourselves  in  the  contemplation  of  the  Author  of  our  ex- 
istence; but  that  qualified  imperfect  kind  of  felicity, 
which  we  are  permitted V)  taste,'m  this  feverish  state  of 
existence,  seems  to  consist  in  the  exercise  of  the  benevo- 
lent affections:  and  we  are  led  to  conclude  with  the 
author  above  mentioned  that  "the  more  we  live  for 
others,  the  more  we  live  for  ourselves." 

The  earth  is  full  of  misery.  We  are  weary  travellers 
in  a  strange  land.  Our  path  is  narrow,  and  we  are  griev- 
ously incommoded  by  the  thorns  and  briers  and  thistles 
that  obstruct  our  passage. 

•  Thick  darkness  is  behind  us:  we  know  whence  we 
came. 

Heavy  clouds  hang  over  us:  we  are  appalled  by  the 
voice  of  the  thunder  and  terrified  by  the  glare  of  the 
lightning. 

We  hear,  on  each  side,  the  noise  of  mighty  waters,  the 
howling  of  wild  beasts  in  the  desert,  and  the  rushing  of 
the  blast  through  the  trees  of  the  forest.  Strange  forms 
pass  by  us.  The  air  is  troubled  with  meteors:  we  cannot 
understand  them.  We  are  mocked  with  deceitful  ap- 
pearances. We  drink;  but  our  thirst  is  not  allyed.  We 
are  hungry:  a  tree >'fairtatheeyes"  presents  itstempting 
fruit:  we  seize  it  with  greediness,  and— chezv  bitter  a. 


82  THE    SAVAGE. 

We  are  desirous  of  repose:  a  couch  of  roses  is  at  hand; 
and  we  lie  down  among  serpents.  As  we  proceed,  we 
meet  an  "angel  of  light',  who  holds  out  his  hand  to  as- 
sist us.     We  rejoice:  but  ere  we  are  aware, 


-black  he  stands  as  night, 


Fierce  as  tea  furies,  terrible  as  hell, 
And  shakes  a  dreadful  dart: 

We  start  back  with  horror:  a  malignant  laugh  is  heard 
on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  above  and  below. — 
Spirits  of  darkness!  what  would  ye? 

Before  us  there  is  a  tremendous  precipice,  to  which 
we  know  no  bottom.  We  must  make  the  dreadful 
leap:  and  we  know  not  whither  we  go. 

Such  is  the  situation  of  men.  They  are  fellow  travel- 
lers and  fellow  sufferers  in  this  wilderness  which  we  have 
attempted  faintly  to  delineate.  What  can  alleviate  their 
distresses,  or  lessen  their  difficulties?  What  can  serve- 
as  a  balm  for  their  wounds,  or  an  opiate  for  their  cares? 
The  world  has  existed  many  thousands  of  years.  One  ge- 
neration has  passed  away,  and  another  has  succeeded. 
They  have  all  been  in  the  search  of  happiness.  What 
have  they  learned  from  the  wisdom  and  experience  of 
ages?  We  should  suppose  that  by  this  time  they  would 
have  discovered  the  delusive  nature  of  pleasure,  the  vani- 
ty of  riches,  and  the  misery  of  ambition.  We  should 
have  supposed  that  by  this  time  they  would  have  disco- 
vered that  the  more  we  forget  ourselves  and  become  in- 
terested for  others,  the  more  we  promote  Our  own  felicity. 
They  have  the  same  common  nature.  Their  hopes  and 
their  fears  are  the  same.  They  must  know  that  evils 
are  lessened  by  sympathy;  and  that  joy  is  heightened 
by  sharing  it  with  others.  By  mutual  assistance  they 
mightsmooth  the  rough  path  of  life,  surmount  difficulties, 
and  avert  innumerable  dangers.  Why  then  should  they 
continue  to  delude,  afflict,  and  destroy  each  other? 

"If  we  should  betold^'saysthe  abbe Barthelemi, "that 
two  strangers,  cast  by  chance  on  a  desert  island,  had 
found  in  the  society  of  each  other  a  pleasure  which  in- 
demnified them  for  being  secluded  from  the  rest  of  the 


THE    SAVAGE.  83 

world ;  if  we  should  be  told  there  exists  a  family  entirely 
occupied  in  strengthening  the  tics  of  consanguinity  by 
the  bands  of  friendship:  if  we  should  be  told  that  there 
exists,  in  some  corner  of  the  earth,  a  people  who  know 
no  other  law  than  that  of  loving  each  other,  nor  any 
other  crime  than  that  of  being  wanting  in  mutual  affec- 
tion; who  would  think  of  commiserating  the  lot  of  the 
two  shipwrecked  friends?  who  would  not  wish  to  apper- 
tain to  that  family  ?  who  would  not  wish  to  fly  to  the  most 
distant  clime  to  join  that  happy  people?"' 

If  we  may  be  permitted  to  judge  of  mankind  from 
our  own  feelings,  we  should  instantly  conclude  that 
there  is  not  one  man  in  ten  thousand,  who  would  not  de- 
sert, with  joy  approaching  to  rapture,  the  pleasures  and 
amusements  of  the  world,  and  all  the  gay  dreams  of  am- 
bition, to  appertain  to  such  a  family,  or  to  become  one  of 
such  a  people.  If  this  be  the  case,  it  proves  that  there 
is  something  divine  in  human  nature  which  would  point 
out  the  path  that  conducts  to  happiness.  To  what  then 
are  we  to  impute  those  artificial  miseries,  vices  and  follies, 
which  distress  and  debase  the  children  of  men?  Why 
should  these  creatures,  whom  God  has  endowed  with  a 
portion  of  the  divine  mind,  which  is  sometimes  known  to 
elevate  them  above  all  sublunary  cares,  be  miserable 
from  generation  to  generation?  We  feel  confident  that 
we  are  right  when  we  trace  the  cause  to  those  barbarous 
institutions  of  civilized  society  which  cramp,  brutalize 
and  distort  the  human  mind.  The  farther  men  have 
strayed  from  the  plain  paths  of  nature,  the  more  vitiout 
and  the  more  wretched  have  they  become. 

Nearly  all  the  evils  that  afflict  the  sons  of  men  flow 
from  one  source — wealth,  or  the  appropriation  of  things 
to  individuals  and  to  societies.  Take  away  this  mother 
curse  and  all  its  cursed  progeny,  and  the  world  would 
be,  comparatively  speaking,  a  paradise! 

Modern  philosophers  talk  much  of  the  advantages  and 
blessings  which  have  flowed  from  commerce,  from  the 
fine  arts,  from  the  diffusion  of  knowledge.  They  carry 
their  ideas  forward  to  a  time,  when  man  will  be  refined, 


84  THE    SAVACE. 

polished  and  enlightened  into  a  kind  of  terrestrial  God, 
who  will  have  the  powers  of  nature  at  his  command. 

One  of  these  future  sages  is  thus  described  by  the 
philosophic  author  of  the  Columbiad;  but  we  are  ap- 
prehensive that  there  is  more  poetry  in  the  passage  than 
any  thing  else. 

The  sage  with  steadier  lights  directs  his  ken, 
Through  twofold  nature  leads  the  walks  of  men, 
Remolds  her  moral  and  material  frames, 
Their  mutual  aids,  their  sister  laws  proclaims. 
Disease  before  him  with  its  causes  flies 
And  boasts  no  more  of  sickly  soils  and  skies; 
His  well  proved  codes  the  healing  science  aid, 
Its  base  establish  and  its  blessings  spread, 
With  long  wrought  life  to  teach  the  race  to  glow, 
And  vigorous  nerves  to  grace  the  locks  of  snow. 

From  every  shape  that  varying  matter  gives, 
That  rests  or  ripens,  vegetates  or  li\ 

Hischemic  powers  new  combinations  plan, 

Yield  new  creations,  finer  forms  to  man, 

High  springs  of  health  for  mind  and  body  trace. 

Add  force  and  beauty  to  the  joyousVace, 

Arm  with  new  engines  his  adventurous  hand, 

Stretch  o'er  these  elements  his  wide  command. 

Lay  the  proud  storm  submissive  at  his  feet, 

Change,  temper,  tame  all  subterranean  heat, 

Probe  laboring  earth  and  drag  from  her  dark  side 

The  young  Volcano,  ere  his  voice  be  tried; 

Walk  under  ocean,  ride  the  buoyant  air, 

Brew  the  soft  shower,  the  labored  land  repair, 

A  fruitful  soil  o'er  sandy  deserts  spread 

And  clothe  with  cultureevery  mountain's  head.— Collmb.  e. 

These  same  philosophers,  when  they  look  back  to  the 
early  ages,  find  man  a  miserable  forlorn  and  wretched 
being,  exposed  to  every  misfortune  and  addicted  to  every 
vice. 

Frail  at  first  his  frame,  with  nerves  ill  strung 

Unformed  his  footsteps,  long  untoned  his  tongue, 

Unhappy,  unassociate,  unrefined, 

Unfledged  the  pinions  of  his  lofty  mind, 

He  wandered  wild  to  every  beast  a  prey, 

More  prest  with  wants  and  feebler  far  than  they; 

For  countless  ages  forced  from  place  to  place, 

Just  reproduced  but  scarce  preserved  his  race.— Collmb.  e.  10. 

We  also  can  philosophize;  but  ours  is  a  savage  philoso- 
phy. When  we  permit  our  fancy  to  carry  us  back  to 
the  beginning  of  time,  we  think  we  can  discover  the 


THE    SAVAGE.  85 

golden  age  of  the  poets.  Our  savage  reason  makes  the 
best  use  it  can  of  those  glimmering  lights  that  sparkle 
through  the  long  night  of  antiquity:  and  we  discover, 
or  think  we  discover,  a  hardy  race  of  longlived  savages, 
who  gathered  the  fruits  of  the  earth  in  peace,  and  placed 
their  happiness  in  mutual  love.  We  do  not  think  it  un- 
reasonahle  to  suppose  that  there  may  have  been  a  time 
resembling  that  described  by  Ovid. 

Aurca  prima  sata  est  irtas,  quae,  vindice  nullo, 
Spopte  sua,  sine  le<;'e,  lutein  rectumqueoole'  at. 
Poena  metusque  a'  erant:  nee  vincla  minacia  collo 
JEre  li^a' auiiir:  nee  supplex  turl  a  timebat 
Judicis  ora  sui:  sed  erant  sine  jndice  tuti. 
Nonduni  ea^sa  suis,  perigrinum  ut  viserot  orbem, 
Montilius,  in  liquidas  pinus  dcsrendeiat  utidas: 
Nullaque  inortale?,  piaster  sua,  littora  norant. 
Nonduin  prascipites  rinselant  oppida  fossae: 
Non  tuba  directi,  non  a?ris  rornua  flexi, 
Non  galea;,  non  ensis  erat;  sine  militia  usu 
Malta  securio  peraizehant  otia  gent*8. 

And  though  the  time  may  never  have  been  when 
"rivers  of  milk  and  rivers  of  nectar"  flowed  through  the 
plain,  in  any  other  way  than  the  land  of  Canaan  flowed 
with  milk  and  honey;  yet,  if  ever  there  were  a  time 
when  men  had  not  commenced  the  business  of  accumu- 
lation; if  ever  there  were  a  lime  when  the  earth  and  its 
fruits  were  common,  when  men  were  uninstructed  in  the 
science  of  hoarding — that  time  was  a  golden  age. 

It  isa  tradition  common  toall  nations,of  which  wehave 
any  knowledge,  that  these  golden  days  have  been :  how,  if 
it  be  not  founded  on  fact,  did  this  tradition  originate? 
Poets  may  invent:  but  how  en  me  the  poets  of  all  nations 
to  invent  the  same  story?  The  flowery  fictions  of  the 
muses  may  compose  a  part  of  the  body  of  the  tale;  but 
we  feel  inclined  to  believe  that  there  are  certain  stamina 
of  fact,  which  are  common  to  the  traditions  of  all  the 
different  nations. 

The  Indian  sage  mourns  over  the  depravity  of  his  na- 
tion, and  speaks  with  regret  of  the  days  of  brotherlr 
love  that  are  past:  the  days  when  a  portion  of  the  holy 
fire  warmed  the  breast  of  every  warrior,  and  the  beloved 
speech  was  in  the  mouth  of  every  prophet. 


86  THE    SAVAGE. 

The  account  given  by  Moses,  of  the  early  ages,  cor- 
roborates our  ideas  on  this  subject.  He  does  not  describe 
those  antediluvian  patriarchs  as  weak,  timid,  miserable 
mortals,  with  bodies  frail, and"nervesill  strung."  No:  we 
conceive  that  Cainan,  Mahaleel,  Jared  and  Methuselah 
must  have  exceeded  the  men  of  the  present  day  as  much 
in  bodily  strength  as  they  did  in  the  number  of  their  years. 

It  is  also  a  tradition  common  to  all  nations  that  in 
former  days  there  were  giants  upon  the  earth:  such  was 
the  opinion  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans:  and  such  was  the 
opinion  of  the  Jews.  And  it  was  also  the  opinion  of  the 
ancients  that  their  heroes  or  mighty  men  were  descended 
from  the  gods:  and  this  notion  seems  not  to  have  been 
peculiar  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans ;  for  Moses,  if  we  un- 
derstand him  aright,  gives  it  the  weight  of  his  testimony 
when  he  says,  "the  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of 
men  that  they  were  fair;  and  they  took  them  wives  of 
all  which  they  chose  .....  There  were  giants  in  the 
earth  in  those  days:  and  also,  after  that,  when  the  sons 
of  God  came  in  unto  the  daughters  of  men,  and  they  bare 
children  to  them,  the  same  became  mighty  men  which 
were  of  old  men  of  renown."  In  fine,  guided  by  the  feeble 
lights  that  antiquity  affords,  and  by  our  own  observation 
of  the  enervating  nature  of  luxury,  we  give  it  as  our  can- 
did opinion,  that  the  men  of  the  early  ages  were  infinite- 
ly superior  to  those  of  the  present  day.  They  might 
worship  the  sun  and  moon  and  hear  the  voice  of  God  in 
the  thunder;  but  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  they 
trembled  in  the  presence  of  the  lion,  or  dreaded  the  ap- 
proach of  the  tiger.  No:  it  is  owing  to  civilization,  lux- 
ury, and  refinement,  that  they  are  become  inferior,  in 
bodily  importance,  to  the  beasts  of  the  desert;  that  they 
find  it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  the  mean  arts  of 
cunning  and  dissimulation  in  all  their  enterprises  against 
the  brutal  creation. 

We  should  be  happy  to  look  forward,to  the  blissful  period 
which  is  beautifully  described  by  the  philosophic  poet: 

Green  swell  the  mountains,  calm  the  ocean  roll, 
Fresh  beams  of  beauty  kindle  round  the  pole; 


TIIE    SAVAGE.  87 

Through  all  the  range  where  shores  and  seas  extend, 

In  tenfold  pomp  the  works  of  peace  ascend. 

Rolied  in  the  bloom  of  spring's  eternal  year, 

And  ripe  with  fruits  tne  same  glad  fields  appear; 

O'er  hills  and  vales  perennial  gardens  run, 

Cities  unwalled  stand  sparkling  to  the  sun; 

The  streams  all  freighted  from  the  bounteous  plain 

Swell  wiU^he  load  and  labor  to  the  main.— Cou.hb.  b.  1'). 

Bat,  as  we  are  no  poet,  when  we  would  dart  forward 
on  the  wings  of  our  imagination,  oir  flight  is  impeded 
by  certain  prosaic  obstacles,  which  we  find  it  difficult  to 
remove.  If  we  understand  the  poet  rightly,  all  this  hap- 
piness is  to  be  brought  about  by  the  operation  ofcommerce, 
civilization,  refinement,  &c.  but  we  have  already  proved 
that  the  tendency  of  these  things  is  to  produce  luxury, 
corruption,  vice,  and  misery.  Here  we  are  at  a  full  stand. 
The  foundation  of  the  building  is  gone:  and  the  super- 
structure must  dissolve  into  thin  air. 

In  this  future  world  of  blessedness^  which  is  so  ele- 
gantly delineated,  we  find  that  men  are  to  dwell  in  pa- 
laces: now,  whenever  men  inhabit  palaces,  they  must 
have  slaves,  drudges,  brutal  bipeds,  to  support  their  dig- 
nity. And  as  the  poet  raises,  to  "tenfold  pomp,"  the 
gay  description,  our  savage  eye  discovers  new  scenes  of 
misery  and  wide  extended  wretchedness! 

Cities  unwalled  stand  sparkling  to  the  sun! 

A  pleasant  sight  truly!  but  in  our  mind  it  awakens  dis- 
agreeable ideas.  We  overlook  the  sparkling  walls  and 
glittering  roofs,and  inquire  for  the  labor  which  created 
and  sustains  this  extravagant  splendor.  Where  are  the 
crowds  of  menials,  who  wait  on  the  luxurious  philoso- 
phers? and  where  are  the  drudges  who  clean  out  the  re- 
ceptacles of  filth?  Who  arc  to  be  "hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water"  in  these  New  Jerusalems  of  the 
bard's  imagination? 

Whenever  we  sec,  in  any  private  edifice,  productions 
of  labor  too  great  for  the  exertion  of  one  man,  we  may 
safely  say,  Hare  has  been  slavery:  here  one  man  has  ex- 
ercised an  undue  ascendency  over  another.  Here  has 
been  superfluity  on  one  side,  and  want  on  the  other; 
{lower  and  subjection.     This   is  the  generation  of  mis- 


88  THE    SAVAGE. 

ery.  Power  begat  slavery;  and  slavery  begat  vice;  and 
vice  begal  misery. 

Plato  in  his  republic  pays  no  attention  to  the  multi- 
tude; he  devoted  all  his  attention  to  the  formation  of  a 
body  of  sages  and  of  warriors  to  keep  the  common  herd 
in  order:  is  that  the  plan  of  our  modern  philosophers? 

The  traveller,  who  examines  the  pyramids  of  Egypt, 
is  at  first  view  struck  with  astonishment  at  the  stupen- 
dous exertions  of  man;  but  the  next  moment  is  imbit- 
teredwith  reflections  on  the  miseries  and  distresses  of 
humanity.  "Thousands  must  have  toiled,1'  says  the 
melancholy  stranger,  "thousands  must  have  toiled,  un- 
der the  iron  rod  of  arbitrary  power,  to  erect  these 
splendid  monuments  of  ambition  and  folly."  The 
magnificent  edifice  which  the  muse  of  the  author  of  the 
Columbiad  has  erected  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  to  re- 
ceive the  "delegated  sires"  of  all  nations,  awakens  in 
our  mind  no  other  idea,  than  that  of  the  labor  and  fa- 
tigue it  must  have  taken  to  hew  so  much  marble. 

A  spacious  dome  swells  up  commodious  great, 

The  last  resort,  the  unchanging  scene  of  state. 

On  rocks  of  adamant  the  walls  ascend. 

Tall  columns  heave  and  skylike  arches  bend; 

Bright  o'er  the  golden  roofs,  the  glittering  spires 

Far  in  the  concave  meet  the  solar  fires. 

Four  blazing  fronts,  with  gates  unfolding  high, 

Look  with  immortal  splendor  round  the  sky.— Coi.umb.  b.  10. 

One  would  have  supposed  that  by  this  time  men  would 
have  been  so  civilized  as  to  find  no  necessity  for  legisla- 
tors or  laws; — but  we  had  forgot  that  laws  and  legisla- 
tors, crimes  and  punishments.must  increase  with  increas- 
ing civilization.  One  would  have  supposed  that  by 
this  time,  men,  having  discovered  all  the  secrets  of  na- 
ture, would  have  found  buildings  a  useless  incumbrance 
on  the  earth; — but  we  had  forgot  that  the  intention  of 
poetry  is  to  amuse  and  not  instruct. — \_To  be  continued.'] 


APOLOGETICAL. 

The  ancient  Greeks,  in  the  pride  of  their  souls,  de- 
nominated all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  but  themselves, 


THE    SAVAGE.  89 

barbarians-,  and  this  name  they  often  bestowed  on  people 
farther  advanced  in  (he  career  of  refinement  and  civili- 
zation than  were  the  Greeks.  It  is  likewise  the  custom 
of  polished  nations,  at  thisday,  to  stigmatize,  every  people 
whose  language  they  do  not  understand,  and  whose  man- 
ners they  will  not  study,  with  the  degrading  names  of 
barbarians  and  savages.  We  are  not  displeased  with  the 
names:  whether  they  he  descriptive  of  our  customs,  or 
meant  merety  as  a  mark  of  distinction  between  you  and 
us,  we  are  satisfied. 

We  cannot  help,however,  remarking  that  you  appear 
to  consider  the  word  savage  as  a  name  of  the  greatest 
reproach.  Is  a  man  inhuman,  wicked  or  cruel;  you  seem 
to  imagine  that  you  give  him  an  appropriate  designation 
when  you  call  him  a  savage.  Now,  you  will  doubtless  ex- 
cuse us  if  we  follow  your  plan  so  far  as  to  make  the  same 
use  of  the  word  civilized  that  you  do  of  savage.  When 
we  wish  to  give  a  suitable  appellation  to  a  corrupt  and 
degenerate  people,  we  will  call  them  civilized.  When  we 
wish  to  designate  one  who  practices  cunning,  dissimula- 
tion, falsehood,  treachery,  we  will  call  him  civilized.  We 
are  not,  then,  the  least  offended  at  the  abusive  epithet* 
which  you  hestow  on  us  and  our  nation;  and  we  hope 
that  you  will  not  deny  us  the  privilege  of  pointing  out 
those  errors,  vices,  and  absurdities,  that  flow  from  your 
ts  and  institutions. 


THE   MAN  OF  THE  WORLD 


We  have  collected  a  few  maxims  which  maybe 
found  useful,  by  a  youth  who  intends  to  make  a  figure  in 
life:  when  we  find  leisure  to  extend  and  methodize  our 
ideas  on  this  subject  we  intend  to  publish  a  treatise 
which  shall  be  intitled  the  man  ofthe  world's  manual. 

He  must  always  wear  a  smooth  exterior,  and  conceal 
his  real  sentiments  behind  a  mask  of  impenetrable  dis- 
simulation. He  must  make  the  most  extravagant  pro- 
fessions of  love  and  attachment,  while  hatred  and  ma* 
lignity  are  rankling  in  his  heart.  He  must  bend  the  knee 
H2 


90  THE    SAVAGE. 

of  submission  to  the  arrogance  of  power;  and  feed  with 
neverceasing  adulation  the  weak  vanity  of  fools.  He 
must  resolutely  dismiss  every  lingering  attachment  to 
virtue,  as  an  incumbrance  incompatible  with  the  nature 
of  his  pursuits.  He  will  find  the  appearance  of  justice, 
benevolence,  mercy, and  candor,  occasionally  useful;  but 
he  must  take  care  not  to  clog  himself  with  this  antiqua- 
ted rubbish,  inreality:  it  would  prove  an  insuperable  ob- 
stacle to  his  refined  operations,  and,  in  the  end,  prove 
the  means  of  his  destruction.  He  must  appear  to  be  an 
enemy  to  injustice,  cruelty  and  dissimulation;  but  he 
must  remember  to  be  possessed  of  these  vices,  in  fad: 
he  will  find  them  instruments  absolutely  necessary  in  the 
furtherance  of  his  plans.  If  he  should  receive  favors, 
it  will  be  judicious  to  make  professions  of  the  most  un- 
bounded gratitude;  but  he  must  observe  that  his  grati- 
tude be  merely  professional:  for,  otherwise  it  might  be- 
come greatly  prejudicial  to  his  personal  interests.  He 
may  arFect  to  be  a  warm  and  disinterested  friend;  but 
he  must  be  at  all  times  ready  to  sacrifice  his  friendship 
when  it  comes  in  competition  with  the  success  of  his 
schemes.  He  must  put  confidence  in  none,  but  live  with 
his  friend  under  the  expectation  of  that  friend  becoming 
one  day  his  enemy.  He  must  on  no  occasion  express  the 
resentment  he  may  feel;  but  meet  his  enemy  with  eve- 
ry appearance  of  respect,  under  the  idea  that  the  time 
may  come  when,  his  enemy's  interest  and  his  own  be- 
ing the  same,  they  may  act  together  as  friends.  He 
must  practice  every  vice,  and  descend  to  every  species 
of  meanness,  that  he  may  find  useful  in  the  progress  of 
his  operations;  but  these  things  must  be  transacted  as 
much  as  possible  in  the  shade.  He  must  assume  the 
garb  of  piety:  beneath  the  snowy  mantle  of  religion  he 
may  erect  akennel  for  the  hellhounds  of  vice,  and  a  har- 
bor for  the  monsters  of  iniquity.  He  must  have  honor 
continually  in  his  mouth;  but  his  honor  must  be  vox  ei 
pmtcrea  nihil.  He  must  form  a  just  estimate  of  the  vices, 
weaknesses  and  ruling  passions  of  his  associates,  and  make 
all  these  things  instrumental  to  his  own  advancement. 


THE    SAVAGE.  91 

He  must  keep  his  head  clear,  and  his  heart  cold. 

His  own  interest  must  be  his  polar  star  to  guide  him 
in  his  voyage  through  life:  and  by  proper  management, 
every  wind  that  blows,  whether  "airs  from  heaven  or 
blasts  from  hell,"  may  be  turned  to  his  own  advantage. 

Hcc  tibi  erunt  artes,  O  child  of  civilization!  by  these 
means  you  may  rise  to  eminence:  and  your  name  shall 
go  down  with  eclat  to  posterity.  These  are  the  arts,  as  a 
polite  writer  of  your  own  well  observes,  which  give  the 
man  of  the  world  an  ascendency  over  the  brutal  force 
of  the  barbarian. 

In  the  prosecution  of  our  plan,  we  shall  take  care  to 
produce  no  maxims  but  such  as  we  can  support  by  point- 
ed authorities  from  the  ethics  of  the  civilized  world. 


POLITICS. 

Our  savage  education  and  barbarous  prepossessions 
having  given  us  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  every  spe- 
cies of  political  intrigue  and  tergiversation,  we  felt  it  in- 
cumbent on  us,  in  our  preliminary  address,  to  announce 
*o  the  public  that"Piomingo  was  no  federalist,  no  repub- 
lican, no  democrat,  no  aristocrat,  in  the  common  accep- 
tation of  those  terms:"  and  in  this  declaration  we  were 
guided  by  a  strict  regard  to  truth,  which  (notwithstand- 
ing our  intercourse  with  civilized  man)  we  always  have 
cherished,  and  shall  continue  to  cherish,  as  long  as  the 
Master  of  our  breath  shall  permit  us  to  continue  on  the 
earth.  We  were  however  aware,  at  the  same  time,  that 
we  were  renouncing  a  subject  which  would  have  given 
life  and  spirit  to  our  miscellany.  Had  we  engaged  in 
political  warfare  under  the  banners  of  some  party  already- 
established,  or  set  up  a  party  of  our  own,  (in  that  case, 
we  should  soon  have  heard  of  Muscogulgee  influence) 
we  might,  if  we  do  not  overrate  our  own  abilities,  have 
made  considerable  noise  in  the  world.  Had  such  been 
our  conduct,  we  have  no  doubt  but  that  the  fate  of  our 
paper  would  have  been  different.  What  is  now  a  poor 
sickly  bantling,  might  have  been  animosus  infans  con- 


92  THE    SAVAGE* 

tending  with  serpents  in  its  cradle.  That  which  will, 
under  the  present  circumstances,  support  a  feehle  exis- 
tence for  a  short  time,  and  die  without  a  groan, might 
have  enjoyed  a  long  life  of  honor  and  prosperity.  And, 
who  can  tell  hut  we  might  have  written  our  savage  self 
into  some  post  of  honor,  or  (which  would  have  been  still 
better)  of  profit.  The  papers,  in  opposition  to  the  party 
we  might  have  espoused,  would,  no  doubt,  have  raised  a 
devil  (this  word  devil  is  very  useful  in  swelling  out  a  pe- 
riod) of  a  noise  about  appointing  a  foreigner  to  an  office 
of  such  great  importance;  (and  we  should  not  have  been 
disposed  to  have  accepted  an  indifferent  situation)  but 
weshould  have  been  ready  tohave  replied  to  that  charge, 
by  declaring  that  we  were  no  foreigner,  but  an  indigen- 
ous American  descended  from  the  great  Mingo  Pa-Ya 
Mataha,  and  therefore  could  not  be  supposed  to  be  under 
the  influence  of  any  improper  prejudice  for  or  against 
either  of  the  mighty  belligerents  of  Europe  who  divide 
the  world  between  them. 

We  should  have  been  able  to  have  said  so  many  keen 
things  about  the  principles  and  practices  of  our  political 
opponents  that  our  Savage  would  have  been  universally 
read;  and,  then,  under  the  mask  of  patriotism  we  might 
have  indulged  our  propensity  for  slander.  We  might 
have  collected  all  the  old  stories  that  have  appeared  in 
the  papers  for  many  years,  which,  having  been  retouched 
by  our  satirical  pencil,  and  a  little  fresh  coloring  added 
by  our  skilful  hand,  would  have  been  exactly  to  the  taste 
of  our  newspaper  connoisseurs.  We  might  have  become* 
very  familiar  with  the  names  of  great  men,  and  abused 
most  outrageously  those  whom  we  had  never  seen.  We 
might  have  published  extracts  of  letters  from  "gentlemen 
of  the  first  respectability,  now  in  Europe,"  or  from  "gen- 
tlemen high  in  office,"  or  from  "gentlemen  in  the  confi- 
dence of  government." 

A  friend  of  ours  appeared  to  be  extremely  solicitous 
that  we  should  engage  in  politics.  We  told  him  that, 
Gallio  like,  we  "cared  for  none  of  those  things."  "So 
much  the  better,"  said  he,  "so  much  the  better;  if  you  be 


THE    SAVAGE.  93 

not  tied  by  political  principles,  you  are  at  liberty  to 
choose  the  party  from  which  you  may  expect  to  derive 
the  most  profit."  We  told  him  that  he  was  again  mista- 
ken :  that  we  were  not  so  totally  destitude  of  observation, 
as  not  to  form  an  opinion  on  passing  occurrences;  but 
that  the  intrigue,  turpitude,  and  dereliction  of  principle, 
which  were  discoverable  in  political  concerns,  had  given 
us  such  a  distaste  to  the  subject,  that  the  very  name  had 
become  odious  to  us.  We  further  added  that  when  a  man 
enters  the  fields  of  political  warfare  under  the  banners 
of  a  party,  he  must  give  up  all  pretensions  to  indepen- 
dency of  sentiment.  He  must  pass  on  to  the  very  extremes 
of  rancor  and  animosity,  otherwise  he  will  be  rejected 
aslukevvarm,and  become  utterly  contemptible.  Hemust 
oppose  all  the  measures  of  the  party  in  opposition  to  his 
own,  whether  he  deem  them,  in  his  private  opinion,  to 
be  salutary  or  pernicious.  He  must  support,  totis  viribus, 
every  measure  of  his  political  friends  even  though  he 
himself  may  suppose  them  to  be  injudicious  and  wick- 
ed. Men  whom  he  knows  not,  he  must  condemn. 
Nor  is  that  all:  he  must  sing  the  praises  of  those  whom 
he  despises;  and  villify  those  who  stand  high  in  his  esti- 
mation. Should  he,  for  a  moment,  in  the  vanity  of  his 
soul,  conceive  that  he  guides  the  political  machine,  it 
will  only  add  to  the  bitterness  of  his  subsequent  morti- 
fication, when  he  finds  that  he  has  prostituted  the  no- 
blest faculties  of  his  soul,  for  the  convenience  of  an  un- 
principled intriguer.  Moreover,  it  is  dangerous  to  be- 
stow extravagant  encomiums  on  any  man  during 
his  life;  but  let  him  be  once  fairly  dead,  and  we  may 
commend  him  with  safety:  it  is  out  of  his  power  to 
prove  us  a  liar  by  the  villany  of  his  conduct.  It  is  also 
ungenerous  and  unjust  to  condemn  a  man  too  hastily. 
We  have  not  perhaps  a  view  of  the  whole  ground;  and 
we  may  not  be  able  to  judge  of  the  motives  which  may 
have  induced  him  to  pursue  a  certain  line  of  conduct. 
In  fine,  we  observed,  we  should  not  be  ashamed,  did  ne- 
cessity require  it,  to  dig  for  our  subsistence;  but  thewo- 
blcr  faculties  of  our  mind  we  never  would  debase  so  far 


91  THE    SAVAGE. 

as  to  devote  them  to  the  promotion  of  the  views  of  any 
man  or  set  of  men. 

"All  this  may  be  very  true,"  said  our  friend,  "butitis 
very  silly.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  wheel  within  a 
wheel.  By  professing  an  attachment  to  the  public  wel- 
fare and  promoting  the  views  of  your  political  friends, 
you  may  substantially  serve  yourself.  You  are  now  in  a 
civilized  country,  and  must  learn  to  act  a  little  like  the 
rest  of  the  world.  Politics  is  the  only  thing  that  pleases 
the  taste  of  the  present  generation:  and  even  that  will 
not  go  down  unless  it  be  rendered  palatable  by  a  little 
spicery.  Nothing  pleases  a  man  so  much  as  to  hear  of 
the  miscarriages  of  his  fellow  man.  He  appears  to 
rise  in  the  same  proportion  that  another  is  degraded. 
You  must  attack  some  eminent  person;  it  is  immaterial 
whether  he  be  one  of  those  in  power,  or  one  of  those 
who  wish  to  be  in  power:  that  is  left  to  your  discretion. 
Or,  if  you  had  rather,  you  may  let  our  domestic  affairs 
alone  for  a  while, and  plunge  into  the  politics  of  Europe. 
You  may  assist  Bonaparte  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  the 
continent,  or  take  on  yourself  the  management  of  the 
English  fleet — suppose  you  were  to  write  a  series  of 
essays  to  prove  that  Napoleon  is  the  'beast  with  seven 
heads  and  ten  horns,'  mentioned  in  the  Revelation. 
You  might  comment  at  large  upon  'the  heads  and  the 
horns  and  the  crowns  that  are  upon  the  horns." 

We  observed,  in  reply  to  the  last  observation  of  our 
anxious  friend,  that  so  many  commentaries  had  been 
written  on  the  Revelation  by  dignified  divines  and  pious 
laymen,  we  were  apprehensive  that  nothing  new  could 
be  elicited  on  the  subject;  and  that  the  very  thing  he 
now  recommended  to  our  consideration  had  employed 
many  learned  heads  and  ready  pens  several  years  ago. 

"Well  then,"  replied  he,  nothing  abashed  with  ths., 
repulse  we  had  given  him, "suppose  you  prove  England 
to  be  the  'great  whore  that  sitteth  upon  many  waters.' 
Will  there  not  be  something  new  in  that?" 

We  answered,  very  gravely,  that  we  wrould  permit 
France  and  England  to  manage  their  own  affairs:  that 


THE    SAVAGE.  95 

we  were  not  disposed  to  concern  ourself  with  any  of 
those  great  matters  which  agitate  the  civilized  world; 
and  that  we  were  an  unambitious  unaspiring  mortal, 
content  with  ease  and  tranquillity.  Our  friend  said  he 
perceived  that  we  wereheadstronginourfolly,and  there- 
fore he  would  leave  us  to  our  contemplations:  and  so 
he  did. 

It  we  might  be  permitted  to  explain  your  civilized 
terms  in  our  own  savage  manner,  we  should  have  no  ob- 
jection to  any  of  your  political  appellations. 

If  federalism  consist  in  a  sincere  attachment  to  the 
principles  contained  in  the  constitution  of  the  United 
States,  we  are  a  federalist. 

If  by  republicanism  be  meant  a  strict  adherence  to 
those  principles  which  promote  the  public  weal,  we  are 
a  republican. 

As  to  democracy — we  acknowledge  the  right  of  the 
people  to  govern  themselves:  would  to  God,  they  posses- 
sed wisdom  enough  to  enable  them  to  do  so  with  propriety? 

We  are  the  friend  of  aristocracy;  but  it  is  that  species 
of  aristocracy  which  is  to  be  found  among  the  Indian 
nations;  the  aristocracy  of  virtue.  Our  mind  soars  far 
above  the  petty  distinction  of  party.  We  can  trace  po- 
litical prejudices  to  their  origin,  and  pity  the  weakness 
of  humanity. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  Vlir. 
HAPPINESS. 

We  have  endeavored  to  prove  that  happiness  is  found- 
ed on  virtue:  and  that  savage  nations  are  more  virtuous 
than  those  that  are  civilized.  If  this  be  done,  it  will  fol- 
low, as  a  direct  consequence,  that  those  in  a  state  of  na- 
ture are  happier  than  those  advanced  in  the  career  of 
luxury  and  refinement. 

That  man  who  is  either  raised  above,  or  depressed  be- 
low, his  species  cannot  be  happy.  He  has  no  society. 
There  are  none  to  whom  he  can  communicate  his 
thoughts;  who  can  participate  in  his  sorrows  or  his  joys* 


THE    SAVAGE. 

From  this  consideration, some  have  deduced  an  argument 
in  favor  of  the  happiness  of  the  lower  ranks  in  even  civil- 
ized community.  "These  men  have  many  companions," 
say  they,  "why  can  they  not  partake  of  those  pleasures 
that  arise  from  association  with  their  fellows?"  We  have 
already  shown,  in  our  last  number,  that  the  circumstances, 
of  their  situation  are  such  as  to  deprive  them  of  those 
qualities  of  the  mind  that  give  a  charm  to  the  social  state. 

Some  of  your  divines  assert  that  the  damned  in  hell, 
will  have  a  full  prospect  of  the  blessed  in  heaven.  This, 
they  very  justly  allege,  will  be  a  great  enhancement  of 
the  punishment  of  the  former:  whether  or  no  they  sup- 
pose it  will  add  any  thing  to  the  joys  of  the  hi  Iter,  we  can- 
not tell. — Such  is  the  situation  of  the  indigent :  they  not 
onlvgroan  beneath  the  pressure  of  evil;  but  they have  the 
additional  mortification  of  beholding  their  fellow  men  in 
the  possession  of  good.  They  dare  not  discover  the  ma- 
lice which  they  feel  against  their  superiors;  hut  they  let 
loose  every  malignant  passion  against  their  partners  in 
misfortune.  Thus  malefactors  in  a  dungeon  and  wild 
beasts  in  a  cage,  when  they  find  it  impossible  to  destroy 
the  surrounding  crowd,  direct  their  vengeance  against 
each  other,  and  even  against  the  walls  of  their  prison. 

That  this  malignity  exists  in  the  multitude,  we  are  cer- 
tain: and  that  we  have  given  the  true  cause  of  its  exis- 
tence, we  firmly  believe.  If  any  one  be  disposed  to  con- 
tend that  the  crowd  do  not  cherish  these  ferocious  and 
vengeful  passions,  let  him  take  a  retrospective  view  of 
the  situation  of  France,  when  the  heavy  hand  of  despo- 
tism was  raised  from  the  shoulders  of  the  degraded  time- 
serving populace.  Like  a  mighty  torrent,  long  confined 
by  impassable  barriers,  they  burst  forth  at  once,  and 
overwhelmed  the  fair  fields  of  society  with  the  waves  of 
desolation.  No  longer  awed  by  the  iron  rod  of  power, 
they  gave  full  play  to  their  long  compressed  but  never- 
dying  ferocity.  Those  who:n  yesterday  they  adored,  to- 
day were theobjectsof theirunrelentingfury.  Overthose 
to  whom  yesterday  they  cringed  as  obedient  slaves,  they 
brandished,  to-day,  the  bloody  poinard  of  destruction. 


THE    SAVAGE.  V< 

Who  can  think  without  horror  of  the  atrocities  perpe- 
trated by  the  blacks  of  Sf.  Domingo?  The  passions  of 
hatred,  malignity,  and  revenge,  so  long  nurtured  and 
concealed  in  the  hosoms  of  degraded  and  dissembling 
men,  bursting  forth,  spread  abroad  at  once  the  tremen- 
dous havoc  of  murder  and  devastation. 

Such  is  the  end  of  civilization.  However  slow  may  be 
its  progress,  and  whatever  course  it  may  seem  to  pur- 
sue, this  is  its  tremendous  conclusion!  It  nourishes  a 
volcano  in  its  bosom.  It  places  the  ingredients,  with 
chemical  skill,  deep  in  the  bowels  of  society. — Moun- 
tains may  be  heaped  on  mountains;  but  the  slumbering 
lire  can  never  be  extinguished — every  age  adds  to  its 
strength;  and  the  longer  the  awful  period  is  deferred, 
the  more  dreadful  will  be  the  explosion. 

Civilization  is  a  forced  s.tate:  it  is  not  natural  for  one 
man  to  bend,  cringe  and  creep  to  another.  A  noble 
spirit,  a  spirit  that  is  inspired  by  ihe  proud  dignity  of 
virtue,  will  bear  every  evil — sickness,  pain,  confinement, 
death — rather  than  have  recourse  to  the  mean  arts  of 
the  sycophant;  but,  there  are  always  those,  who,  willow 
like,  will  yield  to  the  arrogant  requisitions  of  adventitious 
superiority.  There  are  always  those  who  wall  kiss  the 
rod  of  the  tyrant,  and  bend  the  neck  of  submission  to  be 
trampled  upon  by  the  feet  of  the  oppressor.  There  are 
always  those  who  will  sacrifice  the  spirit  of  virtue  to  the 
low  and  sordid  interests  of  the  moment:  who  will  practise 
every  species  of  dissimulation  which  they  conceive  will 
advance  their  interests  or  gratify  their  propensities.  But 
whenever  the  heavy  hand  of  power  is  removed,  the  mind 
of  the  oppressed  flies  back  with  an  elastic  force,  propor- 
tioned to  the  depth  of  its  degradation,  to  occupy  its 
original  situation,  and  to  tyrannize,  in  its  turn,  over  those 
whom  fortune  has  accidentally  humbled.  The  appear- 
ances, therefore,  of  servility,  which  are  shown  by  indi- 
gent wretches  to  their  opulent  superiors  are  almost 
always  accompanied  by  hatred  and  envy  in  exact  pro- 
portion to  their  pretended  humility. 

What  happiness  can  be  expected  in  a  state  like  this; 


98  THE    SAVAGE. 

where  there  is  continual  warfare  between  the  superior 
and  inferior  members  of  the  community?  and  where  the 
debased  party,  disappointed  in  their  wish  of  hurling 
threats  of  defiance  into  the  faces  of  their  oppressors,  vent 
their  malignity  against  each  other? 

Let  us  illustrate  this  subject  by  referring  to  the  affairs 
of  a  well  known  people. 

The  Jews,  for  many  centuries,  wore  the  shackles  of 
servitude.  They  were  oppressed  by  the  Babylonians, 
Persians,  Greeks,  and  Romans.  They  had  long  been  ac- 
counted a  proud  stiffnecked  and  arrogant  nation.  They 
rebelled  against  all  their  successive  masters,  and  fought 
with,  what  we  suppose  you  would  call,  savage  ferocity 
against  their  oppressors ;  but,  being  continually  subdued, 
we  find  them  at  last  sunk  into  a  state  of  abject  servility. 
They  flattered  the  pride  of  the  conquerors  of  the  world 
with  every  appearance  of  humility,  and  proclaimed  to 
the  world,  "we  will  have  no  king  but  Cesar!" 

Is  it  supposable  that  their  hatred  of  the  Romans  was 
less  at  this  time  than  it  had  been  at  any  former  period? 
Not  at  all:  let  the  violence,  rancor,  and  fury  of  their  sub- 
sequent wars  bear  testimony  of  their  immortal  animosi- 
ty. But  that  rage,  which  they  could  not  spend  on  the 
heads  of  their  oppressors,  they  directed  against  each 
other:  and  their  sufferings  and  misfortunes  are  not  to 
be  paralleled  in  the  history  of  any  people. 

Heroes,  legislators,  sages,  reformers!  what  have  ye 
done?  You  have  been  deified  for  the  benefits,  it  was 
supposed,  you  had  conferred  on  humanity.  Behold  the 
fruit  of  your  labor!  [To  be  continued,'] 


SERMONS. 

There  was  a  certain  clergyman,  in  a  neighboring 
state,  who  made  choice  of  the  following  words  for  the 
theme  of  his  discourse,  "Thus  saith  the  Lord,  make  this 
valley  fully  of  ditches."  He  divided  his  subject  into  a 
convenient  number  of  heads,  and  made  a  very  learned 
and  excellent  discourse. 


THE    SAVAGE.  99 

One  of  his  auditors  observed  to  him  afterwards,  in 
conversation,  that  he  was  amazed  that  the  doctor  should 
select  such  a  portion  of  scripture  for  his  text:  it  appear- 
ing, he  thought,  to  require  a  great  deal  of  genius  to  de- 
duce a  suitable  discourse  from  those  words. 

The  doctor  replied,  "My  dear  sir,  he  must  be  a  poor 
clergyman  who  cannot  preach  Christ  from  any  text  in 
the  Bible."  "Well  doctor,"  replied  the  former,  "how 
would  you  preach  Christ  from  the  iron  bedstead  of  Og, 
kink  of  Bashan  ?"  "Why,"  said  the  doctor,  "the  iron  of 
the  bedstead  is  a  type  of  the  hardnessofyour  heart  and  the 
stiffness  of  your  neck;  the  greatness  of  its  size  resem- 
bles the  magnitude  of  your  sins.  It  requires  the  pow- 
er of  Chi  rst  to  soften  your  heart  and  take  away  your  mani- 
fold transgressions.   The  transition  is  easy  and  natural." 

Now,however  we  may  admire  the  ingenuity  of  preach- 
ers in  making  an  excellent  discourse  from  an  unpromis- 
ing text,  we  think  they  might  often  make  a  better  se- 
lection than  they  do.  We  have  often  had  occasion  to 
remark  that  the  orator  passes  over  excellent  maxims  of 
morality  in  order  to  select  a  passage  of  scripture,  which 
he  conceives  he  can  manage  so  as  to  draw  certain  in- 
ferences in  favor  of  some  contested  point  of  doctrine,  in 
which  he  supposes  the  honor  of  his  sect  is  involved. 

We  would  recommend  it  to  any  clergyman, who  may 
be  desirous  of  addressing  an  appropriate  discourse  to 
the  youth  of  Philadelphia,  to  make  a  text  of  the  follow- 
ing words: 

"Thou  shall  not  curse  the  deaf,  nor  lay  a  stumblingblock   before  the 
blind 1  am  the  Lord." 

These  words  are  found  recorded  in  the  nineteenth 
chapter  of  the  third  book  of  Moses  called  Leviticus,  and 
fourteenth  verse.  The  discourse  may  bejdivided  into — 
but  we  are  not  disposed  to  write  the  sermon.  Let  the 
preacher  divide  it  into  as  many  heads  as  he  may  think 
proper.  Let  him  expatiate  upon  each  as  long  as  he 
pleases;  and  then  apply  the  whole  as  the  Lord  may  en- 
able him.  He  may  draw  as  many  inferences,  as  may 
seem  "right  in  his  eyes,"  in  favor  of  abstruse  and  meta- 


100  THE    SAVAGE. 

physical  doctrines  in  divinity;  but  it  is  our  particular  re- 
quest, that  he  would  take  some  notice  of  the  malignant 
disposition  discoverable,  even  in  children,  to  insult  and 
torment  the  deformed,  the  d run  ken,  and  insane,  who  oc- 
casionally appear  in  the  streets  of  the  city. 

We  have  seen  several  hundred  boys  surround  a 
wretched  maniac,  and  torture  him  to  a  parox)smof 
fury  by  their  words  and  their  actions.  We  have  seen 
them  follow  a  deformed  little  mortal,  with  shouts  of  re- 
proach and  every  species  of  opprobrious  language.  We 
have  seen  them  rejoice,  "with  exceeding  great  joy,"  at 
the  discovery  of  a  drunken  pauper.  The  civilized  alarm 
whoop  was  raised  in  a  moment;  and  excry  polished  little 
savage,  within  several  squares,  ran,  exulting,  to  the  en- 
tertainment. 

Is  this  civilization?  is  it  humanity?  or  do  you  call  it  a 
savage  practice? — Such  actions  were  never  known  a- 
mong  the  savages  of  the  wilderness.  But,  from  second 
thoughts  we  believe  the  sermon  should  be  addressed  to 
the  parents,  and  not  to  the  children. 


EATING. 

Piomingo,  the  intention  of  this  letter  is  to  request 
you  to  inform  the  public  what  you  mean  by  talking  of  a 
man  "living  that  he  may  eat."  I  should  like  to  know 
what  there  is  equally  interesting  that  he  could  live  for. 
I,  for  my  own  part,  am  inclined  to  believe  that  this  is 
the  design  of  his  creation ;  and  were  I  allowed  to  answer 
the  question,  "What  is  the  chief  end  of  man?"  agreeably 
to  my  own  private  opinion,  I  would  say,  "To  eat,  drink, 
and  sleep." 

Men  may  affect  to  despise  eating  as  much  as  they 
please;  but  I  believe  it  has  been  their  principal  concern 
in  all  ages.  Why  do  they  tremble  at  the  idea  of  poverty? 
Poverty  is  not  a  thing  dreadful  in  itself;  but  alas!  it  in- 
cludes the  idea  of  hunger  and  starvation.  Suppose  a 
painter  were  to  be  employed   to  produce  a    picture  of 


THE    SAVAGE.  101 

poverty;  would  not  want  be  discovered  in  the  belly,  and 
famine  in  the  countenance? 

However  men  may  boast  of  intellectual  enjoyments, 
it  is  plain  they  are  only  considered  as  things  worthy  of 
a  secondary  consideration;  and  when  they  attempt  to 
describe  those  celestial  delights,  they  do  it  by  some  im- 
age drawn  from  the  science  of  cookery,  or  the  important 
business  of  eating.  What  are  we  to  understand  by  "the 
feast  of  reason  and  Jlozc  of  soul,"  but  that  they  enjoy  a 
kind  of  pleasure,  which,  though  infinitely  inferior, 
bears  somefaint  resemblance  to  the  ineffable  delights  of 
eating  and  drinking.  The  most  ardent  desires  of  the 
mind  are  made  known  by  comparing  them  to  hunger  and 
thirst,  and  the  highest  and  most  sublime  mental  gratifi- 
cation is  likened  to  a  spread  table  and  an  overflowing  cup. 
When  the  wise  king  of  Israel  would  sum  up  the  felici- 
ties of  life,  he  declares  that  "there  is  nothing  better  for 
a  man  than  that  he  should  eat  and  drink;  and  he  adds, 
with  rapturous  exultation,  "Who  can  eat  or  hasten  here- 
unto more  than  I?" 

A  nice  and  accurate  judge  of  literary  works  is  said 
to  be  possessed  of  taste;  and  when  the  critic  boasts  of 
having  a  relish  for  the  writings  of  the  poets,  he  feasts  his 
imagination  with  the  sweet  savor  of  viands,  and  Smoking 
hot  culinary  similitudes. 

The  happincs  of  the  immortal  gods  was  placed  in 
nectar  and  ambrosia;  and  when  we  contemplate  the  fleet- 
ing nature  of  our  own  existence,  we  are  ready  to  ex- 
claim, "Let  us  eat  and  drink;  for  to  morrow  we  must 
die!"  Idefy  any  one  to  think  of  the  maxim  of  Horace, 
"enjoy  the  present  moment,"  without  referring  imme- 
diately to  the  delights  of  the  table  and  the  ecstacies  of 
d(  g/utition. 

As  feasting  with  the  gods  was  the  reward  bestowed 
upon  heroes  for  their  marvellous  exploits;  so  the  curse 
of  hunger  and  thirst  was  the  punishment  inflicted  upon 
the  wicked  for  the  most  atrocious  of  crimes.  O,  un- 
fortunate Tantalus!  may  I  be  turned  on  the  wheel  of 
torment,  may  vultures  devour  my  liver,  may  I  roll  up 
12 


102  THE    SAVAGE* 

with  anguish  of  heart  the  still  revolving  stone,  rather 
than  suffer  the  hundredth  part  of  thy  excruciating  mi* 
seryi  I  seem  to  see,  even  at  this  moment,  thy  parched 
lips  within  an  inch  of  the  cooling  streams!  1  see  misery 
inthroned  on  thy  famine-stuck  visage!  I  see  thy  hun- 
gry eyes  turned  up  with  unutterable  longing  to  the  fruit 
that  hangs  above  thy  head! 

When  the  fertile  fields  of  Canaan  were  promised  to 
the  Jews,  they  were  described  as  "flowing  with  milk 
-and  honey"  and  abounding  in  "corn  and  wine." 

"Bring  it  near  to  me  saith  the  blind  but  venison-lov- 
ing Isaac,  "bring  it  near  to  me  and  I  will  eat  of  my 
sons'  venison,  that  my  soul  may  bless  thee.  And  he 
brought  it  near  to  him,  and  he  did  eat;  and  he  brought 
him  wine,  and  he  drank."  What  was  the  great  blessing 
that  Isaac  had  tobestow  on  Jacob : — "The  dew  of  heav- 
en, the  fatness  of  the  earth,  and  plenty  of  corn  and  wine." 
The  wise  old  patriarchs  had  too  much  sense  to  prefer 
the  hungry  pleasures  of  the  imagination  to  the  "feast  of 
fat  things  full  of  marrow.'7  And  although  the  art  of  eat- 
ing has  of  late  been  carried  to  a  pitch  of  perfection, 
of  which  the  ancients  had  no  idea;  yet,  they  had  a  to- 
lerable acquaintance  with  what  have  been  emphatical- 
ly styled  the  good  things  of  life. 

I  will  frankly  acknowledge  that  eating  is  my  principal 
concern:  no  other  business  occupies  so  much  of  my  at- 
tention. The  time  that  is  spent  at  the  table,  and  the 
knowledge  that  is  displayed  in  the  preparation  of  food, 
I  conceive  to  be  two  things  which,  more  than  any  other 
characteristics,  distinguish  civilized  men  from  barbari- 
ans. To  a  savage,  the  sensation  of  hunger  is  disagree- 
able, and  he  endeavors  to  remove  it  as  expeditiously  as 
possible;  but  the  man  of  refinement  has  reduced  eating 
to  a  science:  it  is  his  business  and  his  pleasure. 

The  only  thing  that  gives  me  any  uneasiness  is  that  I 
cannot  always  continue  the  operation  of  eating.  Why 
was  not  man  so  constituted  that  he  might  eat  from  the 
moment  of  his  birth  to  the  instant  of  his  death?  The 
only  remedy  I  find  for  this  evil  is,  to  fill  up  the  interval 


THE   SAVAGE.  103 

that  occurs  between  one  meal  and  another,  with  sleep. 
Andthisanswers  the  purpose  tolerably  well;  for,as  sleep 
is  a  kind  of  death,  I  seem  to  lose  my  existence  when  life 
would  be  a  burden.  The  early  Romans  devoured  their 
plain  repast  in  ten  or  fifteen  minutes ;  but  their  luxurious 
descendents,  who  enjoyed  riches  and  leisure,  lay  whole 
nights  round,  their  table, -feasting  like  heroes  and  drink- 
ing like  gods.  They  were  determined  to  partake  of  the 
pleasures  of  life  in  opposition  to  every  obstacle:  for,  if 
their  stomachs  were  replenished  before  the  end  of  the 
entertainment,  they  hastened  todischarge  their  contents 
by  vomition,  and  returned  with  fresh  ardor  to  the  feast. 
In  fine,  I  conceive  that  the  wise  in  all  ages  have  placed 
the  swnmum  bonum  in  good  eating:  that,  at  least,  is  my 
philosophy.  "Some  people,"  says  the  great  doctor  John- 
son, "have  a  foolish  way  of  not  minding;  or  pretending 
not  to  mind,  what  they  eat.  For  my  part,  I  mind  my 
belly  very  studiously  and  very  carefully;  fori  look  upon 
it,  that  he  who  does  not  mind  his  belly  will  hardly  mind 
any  thing  else." 

This  same  doctor  Johnson  is  said  to  have  made  many 
wise  observations:  but  this,  I  suppose  to  be  one  of  the 
wisest  he  ever  uttered.  What  business  can  stand  in  com- 
petition with  this?  What  pleasure  has  half  the  allure- 
ments? Were  1  in  the  paradise  of  Mohammed,  I  should 
find  no  other  employment  for  the  Houries,  but  to  wait 
on  my  table. 

But  the  hour  of  dinner  approaches.  Already  the  sweet 
odor  of  roastbeef  assails  my  nostrils.  Hark !  I  hear  the 
rattling  of  the  knives  and  soul-cheering  jingle  of  the 
plates.  The  servants  pass  and  repass  in  the  busy  haste 
of  preparation.  Farewell  savage !  by  the  Fife  of  Apicious, 
I  would  not  wait  a  minute  for  all  the  barbarians  in  the 
universe.  My  whole  frame  trembles  with  the  intensity 
of  desire. 

The  world  recedes;  it  disappears, 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes.  My  ears 

Witli  sounds  seraphic  ring 

JOHN   GORMAND. 


104  THE    SAVAGE. 

SOCIETY. 

That  man  was  not  designed  by  nature  for  it  solitary 
animal  appears  from  that  instinctive  impulse  which  one 
in  solitude  discovers  to  seek  the  society  of  his  species. 
A  cynic,  however  morose  in  his  disposition,  ungracious 
in  his  deportment,  and  violent  in  his  expressions,  finds  a 
strange  satisfaction  in  mingling  with  the  crowd. 

Cynophilus, an  ancient  philosopher,  felt  no  attachment 
for  any  creature  in  existence  but  his  dog.  He  dwelt  in 
the  fields.  His  food  consisted  of  roots  and  berries;  and 
his  drink  was  water.  Every  individual  of  the  human  race 
was  an  object  of  abhorrence  and  contempt;  yet  he  fre- 
quently walked  in  the  populous  city,  and  pressed 
through  the  multitude  assembled  in  the  forum:  what 
could  be  his  motive  for  this  extraordinary  conduct? — He 
was  governed  by  the  same  impulse  which  compels  the 
sheep  to  feed  in  flocks:  he  was  a  gregarious  animal. 

The  hermit,  who  fixes  his  residence  in  the  desert  far 
removed  from  the  footsteps  of  men,  feels  this  innate  pro- 
pensity so  strong  in  his  breast,  that  he  finds  it  necessary 
to  assemble  around  his  rushy  couch  an  innumerable 
multitude  of  visionary  men,  whom  he  dignifies  with  the 
appellation  of  angels.  He  holds  imaginary  communion 
with  prophets  and  the  apostles,  and  walks  the  streets  of 
the  New  Jerusalem  with  myriads  of  saints  clothed  in 
white, singing  songs  of  praise  and  exultation. 

"You  may  drive  back  nature  with  violence,'*  says  Ho- 
race, "but  she  will  continually  return."  The  hermit  has 
denied  himself  the  pleasures  of  society  in  this  miserable 
world,  and  among  a  degenerate  people;  but  he  promises 
himself  the  enjoyment  of  mingling  in  a  crowd  of  better 
men  beyond  the  grave. 


THE  GOLDEN   AGE. 
Propertius,  a  Roman  elegiac  poet  who  died  a  short 
time  before  the  commencement  of  the  christian    era, 
contends  that  he  lived  in  the  golden  age;  and  the  reason 
he  assigns  for  this  opinion  appears  to  be  cogent: 

Aurea  nunc  vere  suntsascula;  plurinius  auro 
Venit  honos. — 


THE    SWAGE.  105 

We  may  say,  with  as  much  truth  as  Propertius,  "This 
truly  is  the  golden  age:  much  honor  corneth  by  gold." 


THE  SAVAGE-NO.  IX. 
SLAVERY. 

Slwery — But  we  will  endeavor  to  discuss  this  sub- 
ject without  quoting  the  celebrated  apostrophe  of 
Sterne,  or  the  no  less  celebrated  verses  of  Cowper. 
Of  what  species  of  slavery  shall  we  speak?  Shall  we 
take  notice  of  the  servile  condition  of  Asia;  the  drudg- 
ery of  Europe;  or  the  misfortunes  of  Africa? 

Men  are  prone  to  overlook  things  that  are  nigh;  and 
fix  their  eyes  on  distant  objects.  They  are  afflicted  by 
the  distresses  of  those  who  groan  under  the  rigor  of 
foreign  despotism;  but,  at  the  same  time,  they  are  busi- 
ly employed  in  maturing  the  same  sufferings  for  them- 
selves and  for  their  children. 

The  citizens  of  the  United  States  lament,  with  the 
greatest  apparent  sensibility,  the  misfortunes,  distresses 
and  grievances  of  poor  oppressed  enslaved  Europeans; 
yet  they,  themselves,  are  every  day  hastening,  to  the 
extent  of  their  abilities,  the  time  when  the  people  of 
America  will  be  precisely  in  the  situation  of  .those 
whose  affairs  they  now  so  feelingly  deplore. 

The  condition  of  the  laborers  and  peasantry  in  Eu- 
rope is  miserable  enough;  but  there  was  a  time  when 
they  were  by  no  means  so  unfortunate.  There  was  a 
time  when,  comparatively  speaking,  they  were  sava- 
ges; when  equality  prevailed  among  the  great  body  of 
the  people;  when  they  were  ignorant  of  the  vices, lux- 
uries, and  diseases  which  have  been  introduced  by  the 
progress  of  civilization.  But  those  times  are  changed. 
Commerce  has  spread  her  sails  and  visited  the  remo- 
test corners  of  the  earth.  She  has  poured  the  dia- 
monds of  the  east  and  the  gold  of  the  west  into  the  bo- 
som of  Europe.  She  has  erected  magnificent  cities; 
into  which  she  has  introduced  luxury  and  pomp — 
wretchedness  and  want.  She  has  established  manu- 
factories; which  have  been   productive  of  riches    and 


106  THE    SAVAGE. 

splendor — poverty, vice,  and  disease.  Well:  let  the  ci- 
tizens of  the  United  States  extend  their  commerce,  and 
establish  manufactories.  What  will  be  the  consequence? 
Wealth,prosperity,luxury,magnificence — and  ail  those 
other  things  which  we  have  already  proved  to  be  in- 
separable attendants  on  luxury  and  refinement.  Do 
not  extensive  manufactories  and  widespreading  com- 
merce produce  riches!  Does  not  the  possession  of  rich- 
es confer  power?  Is  not  slavery  necessarily  coexistent 
with  power?  If  riches  did  not  confer  power  on  the  pos- 
sessor, they  would  cease  to  be  an  object  ofpursuit:  they 
would  be  totally  useless.  If  they  do  confer  power,  they 
must,  necessarily,  impoverish  others  in  the  same  propor- 
tion that  they  enrich  the  possessor.  One  wealthy  man 
cannot  render  other  men,  equally  wealthy  with  himself, 
subservient  to  his  wishes;  but  let  him  increase  his  own 
wealth,  and  then  he  will  be  able  to  extend  his  influence 
over  those  who  were  formerly  his  equals:  consequently 
they  are  impoverished  in  the  same  proportion  that  he  is 
enriched.  Every  accession  of  wealth, therefore,  toanin- 
dividual  in  any  community  is  an  accession  of  poverty  or 
slavery  to  every  other  individual  within  the  sphere  of 
his  influence.  Why  should  we  deplore  the  existence  of 
that  slavery  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  which  already 
exists  among  ourselves,  and  which  we  use  every  exertion 
within  the  limits  of  our  power  to  bring  to  perfection? 
Why  should  we  express  resentment  against  an  Asiatic 
or  European  despot  for  exercising  that  power  which  has 
fallen  into  his  hands  by  a  train  of  causes  and  effects, 
and  yet  express  no  disapprobation  of  the  conduct  of  the 
wealthy  man  who  uses,  to  the  utmost,  that  influence 
which  the  possession  of  riches  has  given  him  over  soci- 
ety? The  rich  man  and  the  prince  are  equally  culpa- 
ble: there  can  be  no  more  harm  merely  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  a  throne,  than  there  is  in  making  a  fortune:  and 
a  crown  received  by  inheritance  is  as  much  the  property 
of  the  possessor,  as  an  estate  received  by  the  death  of  the 
father  is  the  property  of  the  son.  He,  who  sways  the 
sceptre,  exercises  power:  He,  who  uses  the  estate,  ex- 


THE    SAVAGE.  107 

ercises  power.  The  cases  are  in  every  respect  similar: 
and  if  it  be  wrong  to  acquire  a  kingdom,  it  is  wrong 
to  accumulate  money:  the  object  in  both  cases  being 
precisely  the  same — power.  The  man  who  aspires  to 
empire  removes  the  obstacles  that  stand  in  his  way;  the 
man  who  would  amass  riches  does  the  same.  Villany  is 
sometimes  practised  by  the  former;  and  sometimes,  by 
the  latter.  We  grant  that  more  evil  is  frequently  per- 
petrated by  the  great,  than  by  the  little,  usurper;  but  if 
the  pursuit  of  one  be  justifiable,  so  is  that  of  the  other. 

Three  brothers  enter  the  world  at  the  same  time.  They 
all  resolve  to  grow  powerful:  but  B  is  of  a  more  aspi- 
ring disposition  than  A :  and  C  is  still  more  ambitious  than 
B.  A  remains  in  his  native  town,  and  manages  his  little 
traffic  with  infinite  cunning  and  address.  He  studies  the 
rise  and  fall  of  the  price  of  every  species  of  goods;  and 
buys  up  or  sells  off  as  circumstances  may  require.  If  he 
suppose  that  a  certain  article  will  be  in  demand,  he  en- 
deavors to  engross  it;  and  afterwards  takes  every  ad- 
vantage, in  his  power,  of  those  who  were  possessed  of 
less  cunning  or  foresight  than  himself.  If  he  know  of 
some  circumstance  that  lessens  the  value  of  goods  in  his 
possession,  he  immediately  disposes  of  them  to  some  ig- 
norant purchaser,  tor  as  much  as  they  will  bring.  Thus, 
through  the  ignorance,  follies  and  misfortunes  of  others, 
he  acquires  money  with  considerable  rapidity.  He  is 
accounted  a  man  of  substance.  Hiscreditis  established. 
He  contracts  debts  to  an  immense  amount:  turns  his 
property  into  cash;  takes  the  benefit  of  some  act  of  in- 
solvency or  bankruptcy;  and  his  fortune  is  made! 

The  grovelling  baseness,  the  sordid  injustice,  the  co- 
wardly cruelties,  of  A,  are  forgotten.  He  has  defrauded 
the  fatherless, oppressed  the  widow,  deluded  the  thought- 
less, deceived  the  ignorant,  sacrificed  his  friends,  be- 
trayed his  trust,  and  laid  perjury  on  his  soul;  but  he  is 
rich;  and  all  is  forgotten.  The  industrious  families,  ru- 
ined by  his  ingenuity,  are  scattered  over  the  world,  the 
victims  of  sorrow,  vice  and  disease:  or,  deep  in  the  vale 
of  penury,  their  tears  fall  unnoticed;  and  their  groans 


108  THE    SAVAGE. 

arc  not  heard.  He  reaps  the  harvest  of  his  villanies; 
becomes  an  alderman  or  justice  of  the  peace;  enjoys 
otium  cumdignitate;  dies  in  peace,  at  a  good  old  age-, 
and  his  fortune  descends  to  his  son. 

B,  in  the  mean  time,  has  been  much  more  expeditious 
and  more  fortunate  in  the  acquisition  of  wealth  than 
his  brother.  He  has  gone  to  the  East  Indies  or  to  the 
West,  or  somewhere  else;  where  he  has  kindled  wars, 
plundered  towns,  impoverished  provinces, and  returned 
to  his  country  with  inexhaustible  stores.  He  astonish- 
es the  crowd  with  his  riches;  he  wallows  in  luxury;  he 
indulges  his  taste  for  magnificence  and  splendor;  he  ex- 
tends his  patronage  to  literature  and  the  fine  arts;  he 
becomes  a  Mecenas  to  every  man  of  learning,  and  the 
dulcedccus  of  polished  society ;  he  subscribes  to  charita- 
ble institutions,  and  commands  the  homage,  respect,  and 
adoration  of  the  world?  When  he  dies,  his  obsequies 
are  celebrated  with  pomp;  and  his  name  is  immortali- 
zed by  sculptors  and  poets. 

But  thedaringambitionof  C  was  not  content  with  the 
acquisition  of  power  by  the  accumalation  of  money. — 
He  courted  the  people;  was  elected  their  representa- 
tive; became  their  idol ;  received  the  chief  command  of 
their  forces:  seized  on  the  public  treasure;  and,  after  a 
severe  battle,  in  which  some  thousand  lives  were  lost, 
he  encircled  his  brows  with  a  diadem.  What  then !  He 
is  a  mild  and  beneficent  prince.  He  causes  punishment 
to  be  inflicted  upon  evil  doers;  and  praise  to  be  bestow- 
ed on  those  who  do  well.  He  is  accounted  the  father 
of  his  people;  and  transmits  his  crown  with  full  sover- 
eignty to  his  descendents. 

Was  not  the  objects  of  these  three  brothers  precisely 
the  same?  Did  they  not  all,  according  to  thir  respective 
capacities,  endeavor  to  acquire  and  exercise  power? 
The  means  employed  by  one  were  equally  unjustifiable 
with  those  employed  by  either  of  the  others.  Every  one 
produced  as  much  slavery  as  he  was  able.  The  ab- 
solute quantum  of  good  or  evil  effected  by  C  or  B 
might  be  greater  than  that  which  was  produced  by 


THE    SAVAGE.  109 

A:  but  mforo  conscicnticc,  they  were  all  equally  villains. 

We  need  not,  therefore,  look  to  Africa,  Asia,  or  Eu- 
rope, for  the  existence  of  slavery:  the  plant  nourishes  in 
the  United  States;  but  it  is  not  yet  in  a  state  of  matu- 
rity. The  people  partake  something  still  of  the  nature 
of  savages:  when  they  become  perfectly  civilized,  they 
will  be  perfectly  slaves. 

A  man  is  not  incommoded  by  a  nuisance  which  ha* 
long  been  familiar  to  his  senses;  but  if  he  be  exposed 
to  the  effluvia  of  a  different  species  of  filth,  to  which  he 
has  not  been  accustomed,  he  will  immediately  show 
signs  of  disgust  and  detestation.  The  inhabitant  of  Phi- 
ladelphia perceives  not  (or  perceiving  dislikes  not)  those 
odoriferous  gales  that  issue  from  the  narrow  alleys  and 
sinks  of  the  city;  whereas  a  man  from  the  country,  who  is 
conversant  enough  with  abominations  of  a  differentkind, 
will  give  manifest  indications  of  loathing  and  abhorrence. 
So  it  is  with  moral  turpitude:  the  slavery  that  has  be- 
come familiar  to  a  man's  eyes  makes  no  impression  on 
his  mind;  but  that  which  assumes  a  different  form,  or 
discovers  itself  in  a  different  manner,  cnlls  forth  his  sym- 
pathetic condolence.  Vices  or  follies  to  which  he  has 
been  accustomed  give  him  not  the  slightest  uneasiness; 
but  those  of  a  more  uncommon  nature,  or  those  which 
are  the  consequences  of  manners  and  customs  different 
from  his  own,  awaken  his  pity  and  contempt. 

We  have  often  heard  a  Pennsylvania  farmer  execrat- 
ing the  conduct  of  a  southren  planter,  in  holding  the  un- 
fortunate Africans  in  a  state  of  slavery;  yet  this  man 
never  once  reflected  that  he,  himself,  was  guilty  of  the 
same  injustice  which  he  reprobated  so  severely  in  ano- 
ther. The  Virginia  planter  exercises  authority  over 
his  fellow  men ;  so  does  the  Pennsylvania  farmer.  There 
is  no  difference  but  this:  one  possesses  more  power  than 
the  other. 

The  Virginian  possesses  five  hundred  slaves: ho  ac- 
quired them  by  inheritance,  or  purchased  them  with  hi* 
money.  He  claims  their  perpetual  services;  and  the  laws 
of  his  country  sanction  his  claim.  By  his  powerful  ex- 
K 


110  THE    SAVAGE. 

ertions,  or  by  a  fortunate  concurrence  of  circumstances, 
he  has  acquired  an  absolute  ascendency  overth^se  men: 
consequently  they  are  absolutely  his  slaves. 

The  Pennsylvanian  is  in  possession  of  a  landed  estate, 
worth  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  His  fields  are 
cultivated  by  fifty  or  sixty  ragged  miserable  laborers; 
to  whom  he  gives  twelve  dollars  a  month  one  year,  be- 
cause they  cannot  be  procured  at  a  cheaper  rate.  Ano- 
ther year,  laborers  are  numerous:  they  range  over  the 
country  in  every  direction  begging  for  employment.  He 
now  hires  them  for  ten,  eight,  seven,  six,  live,  four,  dol- 
lars a  month,  and  even  sometimes  allows  them  nothing 
(to  make  use  of  a  favorite  expression  of  his  own)  but  their 
victuals  for  their  work.  Observe  well,  that  he  exercises 
every  power,  which  his  own  exertions,  or  a  fortunate 
concurrence  of  circumstances,  have  given  him  over  his 
fellow  men. 

What  injustice  is  discoverable  in  the  conduct  of  the 
southern  planter,  which  is  not  also  found  in  the  practices 
of  the  northern  farmer?  They  are  both  tyrants  to  the  ut- 
most of  their  abilities.  They  both  hold  their  fellow  crea- 
tures in  slavery  as  unbounded  as  their  powers.  Nor  is 
the  condition  of  the  white  slave  in  the  northern  states 
much  preferable  to  that  of  the  black  slave  in  the  south- 
ern parts  of  the  union.  The  laws  and  the  progress  of 
civilization  have  made  the  indigent  laborer  a  slave  to 
every  man  in  possession  of  riches.  He  may  change  his 
master;buthe  is  condemned  to  perpetual  servitude;  and 
his  reward  is  the  reward  of  every  other  slave — subsistence* 
The  situation  of  the  white  slave  is  often  more  unfortu- 
nate than  that  of  the  black:  he  is  probably  harassed  by 
domestic  cares,  and  compelled  to  be  a  helpless  witness 
of  the  distresses  of  his  family;  or  he  changes  his  em- 
ployer so  often,  with  the  vain  hope  of  meliorating  his 
condition,  that  he  becomes  sick,  infirm,  or  old,  without 
having  had  it  in  his  power  to  secure  the  friendship  or 
protection  of  any  of  his  masters.  What  then  is  the  con- 
sequence? The  wretched  outcast,  after  a  life  of  slavery, 
is  neglected  by  those  who  have  enjoyed  the  fruit  of  bis 


THE    SAVAGE.  Ill 

labor:  he  may  perish  in  the  streets,  expire  on  the  high- 
way, or  linger  out  a  miserable  existence  in  some  infirm- 
ary or  poorhouse,  till  death  shall  relieve  him  of  his  pain, 
and  the  world  of  a  burden.  And  the  pitiful  assistance, 
which  is  granted,  by  the  rich,  to  their  sick,  decrepid,or 
superanuated  slave,  is  given  as  a  charity,  accompanied 
with  reproaches  and  expressions  of  contempt:  and  the 
dying  pauper  must  receive  it  with  all  becoming  humility. 
He  is  upbraided  with  his  vices,  reproached  with  his  fol- 
lies, and  unfeelingly  insulted  by  every  purseproud  fool 
who  may  manage  the  concerns,  or  have  the  superinten- 
dence, of  the  poor.  The  black  slave  is  compelled  to  labor; 
but  he  is  destitute  of  care.  He  is  not  at  liberty  to  change 
one  service  for  another;  but  he  may,  by  long  and  faithful 
adherence  to  his  duty,  secure  the  affections  of  his  master, 
and,  by  assiduous  attentions,  conciliate  his  superiors. — 
When  he  grows  old  or  infirm,  he  is  sure  of  being  main- 
tained, without  having  recourse  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
a  justice  of  the  peace,  overseer  of  the  poor,  or  superin- 
tendent of  a  workhouse. 

Is  it  not  a  little  strange  that  the  opulent  man  when  he 
contributes  his  quota  to  the  necessities  of  a  wretch  who 
has  been  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  a  slave  to  the  com- 
munity of  the  rich,  considers  himself  as  bestowing  a  chari- 
ty; whereas  the  slaveholder  supposes  himself  bound  in 
justice  to  support  the  blacks  who  are  worn  out  in  his  ser- 
vice?— Is  it  not  a  little  strange  that  we  should  hear  men 
in  the  middle  and  northern  states  pour  forth  reproaches 
against  their  brethren  to  the  southward  for  holding  slaves, 
when  they  themselves  are  supported  by  the  labor  of 
slaves?  "Thou  hypocrite!  first  cast  the  beam  out  of  thine 
own  eye;  and  then  shalt  thou  see  clearly  to  cast  the 
mote  out  of  thy  brother's  eye."         [To  be  continued.'] 


VITIOUS  HABITS. 

Bad  habits  are  with  the  utmost  difficulty  eradicated; 
perhaps,  indeed,  when  they  have  takin  deep  root  they 
become  altogether  unconquerable:  because  the  conti- 
nual indulgence  of  any  leading  propensity  has  a  direct 


112  THE    SAVAGE. 

tendency  to  weaken  the  powersof  volition,or  to  enervate 
the  governing  powersof  the  mind.  Doctor  Johnson  says, 
that  those  who  have  contracted  bad  habits  must  get  rid 
of  them  as  well  as  they  can:  but  he  seems,  at  the  same 
time,  to  consider  it  as  a  thing  extremely  improbable, 
that  the  conquest  should  ever  be  completely  effected. 

Johnson,  no  doubt,  spoke  from  experience:  and  if  he, 
whose  reasoning  powers  were  so  strong  and  who  was  so 
remarkable  for  forming  decided  opinions  on  every  sub- 
ject, found  it  almost  impossible  to  relinquish  practices 
which  had  become  habitual,  what  must  be  the  fate  of 
inferior  minds?  must  they  resign  themselves  to  despair, 
and  give  full  way  to  pernicious  indulgences?  It  is  by  no 
means  our  intention'to  inculcate  the  opinion,  that  refor- 
mation is  impracticable:  few  cases  of  moral  disease  are 
so  desperate  as  not  to  admit  of  a  remedy:  we  would  only 
caution  those,  who  have  never  experienced  the  tempta- 
tion, not  to  be  too  hasty  in  pronouncing  the  sentence  of 
condemnation  upon  one  who  has  fallen  into  a  course  of 
habitual  error.  Minds  of  the  first  order  are  perhaps  the 
most  prone  to  run  into  extremes:  and  it  is  most  true,  that 
the  unrestrained  indulgence  even  of  virtuous  inclina- 
tions, in  this  civilized  world,  has  a  direct  tendency  to  lead 
the  amiable  delinquent  into  the  paths  of  error  and  of  vice. 
Cold  phlegmatic  beings— who  never  felt  the  inspirations 
of  genius,  the  turbulence  of  passion,  or  the  enthusiasm 
of  virtue — who  are  unassailable  by  every  motive  that 
might  lead  them  astray — who  have  pursued'the  path  of 
prudent  expediency  because  they  were  destitute  of 
every  species  of  vivid  emotions — such  beings  are  apt  to 
condemn,  with  envious  malignity,  the  aberrations  of 
superior  minds;  but  they  ought  to  reflect  that  they  are 
incapacitated  by  nature  for  being  competentjudges  in 
these  affairs.  A  man  of  genius  says  some  writer,should 
have  the  privilege  of  being  tried  by  his  peers.  So  a  man 
whose  benevolence  of  character,  whose  warm  and  so- 
cial feelings,  and  whose  amiable  eccentricities,have  been 
the  causes  of  his  falling  into  vitious  courses,  when  judg- 
ment is  to  be  passed  on  his  conduct,  is  entitled  to  a  jury 


THE    SAVAGE.  113 

equally  as  benevolent,  humane  and  virtuous  as  himself. 

When,  by  a  long  course  of  self  indulgence,  we  have 
lost  that  strength  of  mind  which  is  necessary  to  enable 
us  to  persevere  in  any  particular  line  of  self  denial,  the 
only  remedy  that  remains  is  to  dislodge  one  evil  by  the 
introduction  of  another;  and  as  we  are  generally  under 
the  influence  of  some  leading  propensity  every  change 
that  is  effected  in  our  habits  must  be  productive  of  ad- 
vantage. The  mind  becomes  unsettled;  it  is  diverted 
from  its  vitious  career;  and  there  opens  a  possibility  of 
giving  it  a  different  direction.  When  this  is  the  case, 
nothing  is  so  advisable  as  active  employment:  this  is 
the  shield  which  will  defend  us  from  the  arrows  of 
temptation;  it  presents  some  object  which  appears  wor- 
thy of  our  exertions;  and  insensibly  restores  a  portion  of 
that  energy  of  soul,  which  appeared  to  be  irretrievably 
lost.  A  man  who  has  no  employment  may  find  it  ut- 
terly impossible  to  divest  himself  of  vitious  habits;  but 
surely  he  may  resolutely  determine  to  engage  in  active, 
pursuits;  and  then  he  will  find  it  more  easy  to  curb 
those  morbid  inclinations,  which  have  been  nurtured  by 
inaction  of  body  and  vacancy  of  mind.  The  great  ex- 
cellence of  active  employment  consists  in  this:  it  diverts 
our  attention  from  the  allurements  of  evil;  and  turns  us 
aside  from  a  conflict  in  which  we  are  sure  to  be  vanquished. 

Let  us  give  an  example:  An  immoderate  indulgence 
in  the  use  of  inebriating  liquors  is  productive  of  conse- 
quences the  most  deplorable  and  distressing:  men  of  the 
mostshining  abilities  and  virtuous  dispositions  fall, every 
day,  sorrowful  victims  to  the  seductive  power  of  this 
deleterious  vice:  yet  it  is  observable  that  indolence  al- 
ways precedes  and  accompanies  this  pernicious  indul- 
gence. A  man  may  resolve  a  thousand  times  to  refrain 
from  the  intoxicating  draught;  but  all  in  vain  as  long  as 
he  continues  in  a  state  of  inaction.  But  should  he  begin 
to  exercise  the  faculties  of  his  mind  or  labor  with  his 
hands,  this  bodily  or  mental  exertion  will  give  energy 
to  his  resolution;  and  he  will  stand  a  chance  to  succeed 
in  his  projects  of  reformation. 
K2 


114  THE    SAVAGE. 

To  conclude:  there  are  a  multitude  of  destructive 
habits;  but  the  habit  of  idleness  is  the  most  pernicious 
of  an}\  It  relaxes  the  body  and  the  mind;  it  engenders 
and  fosters  every  species  of  vice,  and  makes  existence  a 
burthen  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  Happy  is  the  man,  who 
never  experienced  that  lassitude,  that  listlessness,  that 
torpidity,  that  incapability  of  every  species  of  mental 
exertion  which — we  now  feel!  We  must  lay  aside  our 
pen,  and  take  our  tobacco  tube  to  "puff  a  way  care."  Five 
minutes  ago,  we  resolved  never  to  smoke  any  more.  So 
much  for  habits. 


COMPLAINT. 

When  we  find  any  thing  that  appears  to  stand  alone 
in  nature,  without  bearing  any  relation  to  any  other  thing 
in  existence,  we  are  much  more  surprised  than  we  are  by 
tracing  those  wonderful  aptitudes  and  relations  that  exist 
among  the  multitude  of  objects  which  we  denominate  the 
universe.  Judicious  philosophers  have  drawn  their  most 
powerful  arguments  for  the  existence  of  a  great  intelli- 
gent first  cause  from  this  consideration.  The  sun  sends 
not  in  vain  his  rays  through  the  immensity  of  space: 
they  encounter  other  substances,  and  are  reflected  from 
them^and  convey,  through  the  medium  of  the  eye,  to  the 
sentient  principle  of  the  human  mind,  the  images  of  the 
objects  they  have  visited.  Thus,  however  remote  may 
be  the  situation  of  things,  they  are  bound  together  by 
certain  relations,  which  show  the  care  and  power  of 
some  mighty  intelligence. 

The  eye  bears  a  relation  to  visible  objects;  our  ears 
have  formed  a  connexion  with  things  which  are  not  per- 
ceptible by  the  eye;  our  feeling  enables  us  to  understand 
those  properties  of  bodies  which  are  neither  discovera- 
ble by  the  eye  nor  the  ear;  and  by  the  smell,  we  are 
assured  of  the  existence,  and  made  acquainted  with  the 
nature  of  those  minute  parts  of  bodies  that  fly  off  in  every 
direction.  Indeed  the  senses  of  man  are  so  exactly  cal- 
culated to  give  information  concerning  the  objects  by 
which  he  is  surrounded,  that  it  is  fully  evident  that  na- 


THE    SAVAGE.  115 

ture  had  produced  and  furnished  the  place  of  his  resi- 
dence, before  she  gave  existence  to  man  and  the  other 
animated  inhabitants  of  the  universe.  Also  the  faculties 
which  she  has  given  to  every  different  species  of  animals 
are  exactly  such  as  are  rendered  necessary  by  the  mode, 
or  place,  of  their  existence:  some  inhabit  the  waters; 
some  dwell  on  the  earth;  while  others  wing  their  way 
through  the  regions  of  the  air:  the  construction  of  their 
bodies  and  their  powers  of  perception  being  universally 
suited  to  the  necessities  of  their  several  situations.  And 
we  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  the  observation  of 
these  existing  relations  not  only  between  animals  and 
substances  inanimate,  but  also  between  one  animal  and 
another,  and  between  one  lifeless  substance  and  another 
equally  lifeless  withitself,  that  we  are  filled  with  astonish- 
ment when  we  think  we  discover  any  departure  from 
these  established  regulations  in  the  operations  of  nature. 
Should  we  see  a  shark  grazing  in  the  fields,  or  the  tiger 
chasing  the  fish  through  the  bosom  of  the  deep;  should 
we  find  a  carnivorous  animal  with  the  teeth  and  feet  of 
an  ox,  or  a  graminivorous  beast  with  the  claws  and  teeth 
of  a  panther;  should  a  granivorous  bird  have  the  talons 
and  beak  of  an  eagle,  or  a  bird  of  prey  have  the  broad 
bill  and  webbed  feet  of  a  goose  or  a  mallard;  how  great 
would  be  our  amazement?  If  there  were  no  sounds, 
what  would  be  the  use  of  the  ear?  or,  to  speak  more  phi- 
losophically, if  the  collision  or  movement  of  bodies  oc- 
casioned no  agitation  in  the  air,  or  any  other  fluid,  is  it 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  nature  would  have  given  us 
an  apparatus  for  hearing?  If  there  were  no  odors,  would 
she  have  placed  the  nose,  that  mighty  promontory,  in  the 
most  conspicuous  part  of  the  countenance?  Yet,  we 
think  we  have  discovered  something  as  wonderful  as  a 
nose  without  odors,  an  ear  without  sounds,  an  eye  without 
light,  or  any  of  the  rest  of  those  wonderful  things,  we 
have  mentioned.  We  have  observed  in  man  a  propensity 
to  complain,  but  no  disposition  to  listen  to  complaints. 
Why  did  nature,  when  she  gave  him  that  ardent  desire 
of  awakening  sympathy,  render  the  means  he  employs, 


116  THE    SAVAGE. 

for  that  purpose,  totally  nugatory  by  denying  him  a  dis- 
position to  listen  to  complaints  of  distress?  Arewetosup- 
pose  that  man,  in  the  morning  of  time,  being  more  vir- 
tuous than  the  man  now  existing, had  the  same  inclina- 
tion to  listen  to  the  complaints  of  others  as  to  give  utter- 
ance to  his  own;  but  that,  in  progress  of  time,  when 
personal  interests  became  paramount  to  every  moral 
disposition,  he  ceased  to  be  affected  by  the  misfortunes 
of  others,  although,  to  promote  his  private  purposes,  he 
still  continued  to  claim  their  attention  to  his  own  tragi- 
cal details?  How  this  maybe,  we  cannot  tell:  but  we  are 
satisfied  that  the  disposition  of  the  human  mind,  under 
affliction,  to  bewail  its  fate,  and  to  endeavor  to  awaken 
sympathy  is  still  found  to  exist,  although  it  certainly  an- 
swers not  the  purpose  for  which  it  appears  to  have  been 
originally  designed.  Men  still  continue  to  relate  their 
sorrows,  wants,  and  desires,  to  every  one  that  has  com- 
plaisance enough  to  pretend  to  listen  to  their  mournful 
effusions ;  but  they  ought  to  know  that  this  is  not  the  way 
to  find  consolation  in  their  sorrows, or  to  effect  any  other 
purpose  they  may  have  in  view.  The  only  way  to  ar- 
rive at  the  completion  of  their  desires  is  to  conceal  care- 
fully the  existence  of  their  wants:  men,  with  true  ser- 
vility, will  fly  to  gratify  all  the  desires  of  those  who,  they 
suppose,  stand  in  no  need  of  th^ir  assistance. 

Thisproneness  to  complain,  however  natural,  is  only 
excusable  in  a  youth  or  in  a  fool:  a  man  of  good  sense, 
who  has  completed  his  sixth  lustrum,  yet  still  is  inclined 
to  whine  when  any  little  misfortune  assails  him,  de- 
serves the  contempt  he  will  experience.  The  character 
of  Cicero  is  lessened  by  the  complaints  he  suffered  to 
escape  him:  and  who  can  read  the  sad  things  that  were 
written  by  the  banished  Ovid,  without  despising  the  man 
whose  misfortunes  debased,  whereas  they  should  have  ex- 
alted his  mind.  Men,  who  have  experienced  evils  which 
are  really  of  a  trivial  nature,  should  be  in  haste  to  for- 
get them.  These  things  may  appear  important  to  them- 
selves; but  why  should  they  suppose  them  sufficiently 
interesting  to  engage  the   attention  of  others!    But  if 


THE    SAVAGE.  117 

the  misfortunes  be  irremediable,  the  only  thing  that 
then  remains  is  to  suffer  with  dignity. 

Such  were  the  observation  we  once  made  to  Elmore, 
when  he  seemed  disposed  to  complain  of  the  severity  of 
his  lot. 

"These  are  the  reasonings  of  a  mind  of  ease,"  said 
Elmore;  "did  I  occupy  a  conspicuous  station,  I  could 
suffer  with  dignity;  but  when  I  patiently  submit  to  griev- 
ous and  almost  intolerable  evils,  who  will  look  on  and 
applaud  my  persevering  fortitude?  Socrates  might  suf- 
fer persecution,  imprisonment,  death:  he  was  sure  of  an 
immortal  reward.  A  monument  to  his  name  will  be 
found  in  the  breast  of  every  good  man  till  time  shall  be 
no  more.  But  what  hope  can  support  an  obscure  in- 
dividual under  the  pressure  of  calamities?"  And  what 
will  he  gain,  we  replied,  by  useless  repinings?  If  he 
have  a  high  opinion  of  his  own  intellectual  importance, 
why  should  he  not  endeavor  to  preserve  his  own  esteem? 
That  is  a  matter  of  no  small  consequence.  He  cannot 
even  esteem  himself  so  highly,  after  having  given  way 
to  unmanly  complaints,  as  he  would  have  done  had  he 
supported  his  misfortunes  with  stoical  coolness  and  re- 
solution. If  he  have  any  regard  for  the  sanctity  of  his 
feelings,  why  should  he  be  solicitous  to  expose  his  sor- 
rows to  vulgar  minds  who  are  alike  incapable  of  justly 
appreciatinghis  confidence,  and  of  judging  of  theacute- 
ness  of  his  sensations?  But  if  he  must  complain,  "ve- 
rily he  shall  have  his  reward:"  "Poor  Elmore!"  the  easy 
fat  foolish  world  will  observe,  "Poor  Elmore!  he  had 
some  good  qualities,^"- — —for  the  contemptuous"^" 
is  sure  to  succeed  every  expression  of — = — "Damn  the 
world!"  cried  Elmore,  in  a  transport  of  fury,  "I  want 
not  its  pity  nor  condolence.  If  I  complain,  it  is  owing 
to  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  and  not  with  the 
hopes  of  exciting  commiseration.  The  wretch  who 
dies  alone  in  a  dungeon,  or  in  the  wilderness  a  thousand 
miles  from  the  haunts  of  men,  where  there  is  no  eye  to 
pity  nor  hand  to  succor,  may  utter  groans  of  anguish, 
but  he  cannot  look  for  pity  from  the  trees  of  the  forest, 


118  THE    SAVAGE. 

or  from  beasts  of  prey."  Elmore  departed:  we  had  touch- 
ed his  pride;  but  he  was  not  cured  of  his  error. 
Elmore  was  scarcely  gone  before  we  received  a  visit  from 
Tom  Rattle.  Tom  may  truly  be  called  an  odd  king  of 
an  animal;  for  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  nature 
never  formed  but  one  of  the  kind.  He  came  in  singing: 
and  having  danced  several  times  round  us  and  put  eve- 
ry thing  out  of  order  he  suddenly  stopped,  and  staring  di- 
rectly in  our  face,  exclaimed,  "Well,  here  I  am,  thank 
God,  safe  and  sound,  after  all  my  hairbreath  'scapes  and 
marvellous  adventures!  Do  you  remember  the  labors  of 
Hercules?  I  have  forgot  them  all  but  one — no  matter — 
He  went  down  to  hell,  (whether  by  the  way  of  Avernus 
or  not,  I  cannot  tell)  for  the  threeheaded  dog  Cerberus. 
The  snarling  cur  saw  him  approach,  raised  his  three 
heads,  and  barked  tremendously:  all  hell  resounded 
with  his  yelping.  Hercules  raised  his  club.  The  dog 
retreated,  and  took  refuge  under  the  iron  throne  of  Pluto. 
Hercules  approached — Cerberus  snarled — Pluto  raised 
his  rusty  bident.  Let  the  dog  alone,  said  Pluto.  You 
be  damned,  said  Hercules;  and  reaching  out  his  hand, 
he  dragged  the  howling  monster  forth,  and  bore  him  in 
triumph  to  the  earth.  Was  that  heroic?  I  have  done 
something  greater  than  that!  Samson  slew  a  thousand 
men ;  I  have  done  something  greater  than  that.  It  was 
not  I  that  shot  Python,  slew  the  Hydra,  or  killed  the 
boar  of  Calydonia;  but  I  have  done  greater  things  than 
these!  It  was  not  1  that  slew  the  Minotaur,  cut  off  Me- 
dusa's head  or  cleaned  the  stables  of  Augeas;  but  I  have 
done  greater  things  than  these !  It  was  not  I  that  robbed 
the  Hesperian  gardens,  brought  away  the  golden  fleece, 
or  heaped  Pelionon  Olympus,  and  Ossaon  Pelion;  no: 
but  I  have  done  greater  things  than  these!  Yet  I  much 
fear"  continued  he,  assuming  a  sorrowful  countenance, 
"that  I  shall  not  be  deified  neither  before  nor  after  my 
death.  I  shall  never  become  a  new  star  in  the  tail  of 
Aries;  nor  shall  Cancer  draw  in  his  claws  for  me.  No 
new  planet  will  be  christened  Tom  Rattle;  nor  shall  I 
drink nectar,with  apwrjo/e  moi^A, among  the  gods  above. 


THE    SAVAGE.  119 

This  morning  I  was  the  happiest  of  mortals;  and  pro- 
mised myself  a  whole  day  of  felicity.  1  was  all  life  and 
hilarity;  nor  did  I  feel  one  gloomy  presentiment  of  ap- 
proaching evil.  But  now,  my  spirits  have  fled,  and  my 
joys  have  vanished  forever! 

Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  laughter! 
Such  was  the  fate  of  Tom;  first  he  put  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope;  and  soon  he  blossom'd 
And  bore  his  smiles  and  graces  thick  about  him; 
But,  ah!  there  came  a  frost,  a  killing  frost, 
And— when  he  thought,  good  easy  soul,  full  surely, 
His  pleasures  were  eternal,— nipped  his  root, 
And  then  he  fell— 

But  my  soul  shudders  at  the  depth  of  my  misfortunes! 
Thesecurityof  my  mind  on  the  very  brink  of  destruction 
is  truly  astonishing:  no  flitting  bird,  no  gloomy  cloud,  no 
muttering  thunders  excited  any  apprehension  of  the  ca- 
lamity that  was  about  tooverwhelm  me!  Iwalked,Isang; 
in  the  gaity  of  my  he;irt,  I  danced  through  the  streets; 
when,  whom  should  I  meet  but — my  aunt  Sarah  Poorly ! 
Had  I  encountered  a  giant  or  a  lion — had  I  met  the  dog 
of  hell,  or  the  triform  Chimera,  my  valor  might  have 
been  serviceable;  but  here — what  was  to  be  done? 

— As  one  who  sees  a  serpent  in  his  way, 
Glistening  and  basking  in  the  summer's  ray, 
Disordered  stops,  to  shun  the  danger  near, — 
Then  walks  with  faintness  on,  and  looks  with  fear — 

So  did  poor  Tom! 

But  all  in  vain:  at  once  my  highblown  pride 
Broke  under  me;  and  all  my  pleasures  ieft  me, 
Sullen  and  sad  and  angry,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  long  tongue,  that  must  forever  haunt  me. 
Vain  idle  praters  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye, 
With  everlasting  hatred!  O  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man,  who  sits  and  gapes,  and  listens 
To  never  ending  stories!" 

Tom  had  proceeded  thus  far  before  we  gave  him  any 
interruption;  but  as  we  saw  no  prospect  of  his  bringing 
his  story  to  a  conclusion,  we  laid  aside  our  papers,  and 
desired  him  to  sit  down  and  let  us  hear  the  "story  of  his 
woes,"  adding,  that  we  would  endeavor  to  sympathize 
with  him  under  his  afflictions.  "Alas!"  said  Tom,  "1 
am  afraid  you  can  afford  me  but  little  consolation ;  but  I 
shall  at  least  enjoy  the  mournful  pleasure  of  pouring  my 
sorrows  into  the  bosom  of  a  friend. 


120  THE    SAVAGE. 

It  is  pleasant  to  look  back  on  troubles  that  are  past; 
but  we  contemplate  the  difficulties,  with  which  we  are 
surrounded,  with  the  utmost  impatience.  I  have  already 
performed  wonders,  as  I  told  you;  but  I  am  yet  involved 
in  the  greatest  misfortunes:  hence,  these  tears.  I  sat 
three  hours,  three  long  hours, 'like  Patience  on  a  monu- 
ment smiling  at  grief,'  and  listened  to  the  complaints  of 
aunt  Sarah  Poorly.  1  knew  that  when  evils  are  unavoid- 
able, there  nothing  remains  for  a  philosopher,  like  me, 
but  patient  endurance;  I  therefore  summoned  my  forti- 
tude, heroism,  and  stoicism,  to  my  assistance,  and  deter- 
mined to  suffer,  without  a  murmur,  all  the  rigors  of  my 
destiny.  I  have  escaped  for  once,  as  you  see;  but  new 
trials  await  me.  My  aunt  Sarah  Poorly  is  rich,  and  she 
is  old.  She  has  been  so  kind  as  to  flatter  me  with  the 
hopes  of  succeeding  to  her  estate,  when  she  shall  leave 
the  vanities  of  this  transitory  world  to  partake  of  the 
joys  of  the  next.  But,  though  she  speaks  with  rapture 
of  the  pleasures  that  await  her  when  time  shall  be  no 
more,  still  she  seems  inclined  to  linger  in  this  'vale  of 
tears'  as  long  as  she  possibly  can.  And  as  long  as  she 
favors  the  world  with  her  presence,  she  must  talk:  and 
ehe  must  have  an  auditor.  I  have  neglected  her  for  some 
time  past,  and  was  really  apprehensive  that  I  had  in- 
curred her  displeasure;  but  now  she  has  laid  her  com- 
mands on  me  to  see  her  often.  What  shall  I  do?  If  I  of- 
fend her,  I  know  the  consequence;  and  as  I  am  a  poor 
devil,  her  fortune  would  be  very  convenient.  If  I  humor 
her  propensity  for  talking,  alas,  I  shall  never  live  to 
enjoy  the  good  things  she  has  promised  me! 

A  dire  dilemma!  either  way  I'm  sped: 

A  foe,  she'll  starve— a  friend,  she'll  talk  me  dead! 

My  brother  Sam  was  her  first  favorite.  He  listened  to 
her  complaints  for  eighteen  months;  but  could  stand  it 
no  longer.  He  ran  away,  and  went  to  sea.  After  he  had 
enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  navigation  for  some  time,  he 
concluded  to  pay  his  court  again  to  my  aunt;  but  in  vain : 
•he  was  seriously  offended,  and  would  never  be  recon- 
ciled to  him  any  more. 


THE    SAVAGE.  121 

Your  humble  servant  has,  of  late,  found  grace  in  her 
sight:  and  if  1  attend  to  her  complaints,  she  is  kind  and 
generous  beyond  measure;  but  if  I  show  the  least  im- 
patience, or  even  yawn,  while  she  expatiates  on  her  sor- 
rows, I  am  sure  to  awaken  her  displeasure. 

Would  she  permit  me  to  join  in  the  conversation,  I 
think  that,  in  time,  custom  would  render  my  situation 
tolerable;  (for  you  know,  Piomingo,  that  I  am  a  little  ad- 
dicted to  talking  myself;)  but  the  only  thing  she  will  per- 
mit is  the  occasional  interjection  of  groans,  assents,  and 
expressions  of  surprise.  Thus  you  see  I  am  subjected  to 
a  double  misfortune:  I  am  denied  the  gratification  of 
talking  myself,  and  compelled  to  listen  to  the  dull  unin- 
teresting complaints  of  a  whining  old  woman.  Some- 
times, indeed,  when  she  talks  of  an  obstinate  cough,  or 
of  an  acute  pain  in  the  side,  I  feel  myself  roused  by  a 
momentary  attention  to  the  subject  of  herdiscourse.  On 
such  occasions,  a  faint  hope  (shall  I  acknowledge  it?)  a 
faint  hope,  that  death  will  speedily  remove  her  from  this 
troublesome  world  to  those  delights  that  await  her  be- 
yond the  grave,  makes  me  listen  with  something  like 
pleasure  to  her  dolorous  effusions." 

We  had  now  permitted  Tom  to  go  on  with  his  story 
for  a  considerable  time; and  we  began  to  think  that  we 
were  condemned  to  listen  as  long  to  his  complaints,  as 
he  was  compelled  to  attend  to  his  aunt's;  we  therefore 
thought  proper  to  make  an  attempt  to  partake  of  the 
discourse.  We  made  several  wise  observations  concern- 
ing the  intermixture  of  good  and  evil  in  this  transitory 
world;  mentioned  many  maxims  of  the  ancient  philoso- 
phers and  poets,  which  inculcate  the  necessity  of  submit- 
ting to  fate; dwelt,  for  a  considerable  time,  on  some  ob- 
servations of  Seneca,  which  we  thought  might  be  useful 
to  a  man  in  Rattle's  situation;  strongly  recommended  that 
philosophical  panacea, patience,  as  an  unfailing  remedy 
for  every  disease;  and  concluded  bydesiringtobeinform- 
ep  of  the  particulars  of  his  late  rencounterwithhis  aunt. 

Tom  leaned  back  on  his  chair, and  stretching  out  his 
arm,  exclaimed  in  a  theatrical  tone, 
L 


1 


122  THE    SAVAGE. 

"My  friend,  what  you  command  me  to  relate 
Renews  the  sad  remembrance  of  my  fate: 
My  pleasures  from  their  old  foundations  rent, 
And  every  wo  that  Rattle  underwent. 

No  sooner  had  my  aunt  espied  me,  than  she  exclaimed, 
"My  dear  cousin,  I'm  rejoiced  to  see  you.  I  was  just 
thinking  of  you.  How  can  you  absent  yourself  so  long, 
when  you  know  I  delight  in  your  company?  I  have  been 
up  to  see  poor  Caty  Cackle — her  husband  sick — five  or 
six  poor  half  starved  children — nobody  to  do  any  thing 
— a  distressed  family,  cousin.  I  did  what  I  could;  but 
there  isso  much  distress  in  the  world — Bless  me!  don't 
let  us  stand  here*  No:  not  that  way — let  us  go  by  Third 
street.  What  a  full  market!  Well,  how  they  do  push 
and  elbow  each  other! — every  one  for  himself.  Did  you 
observe  that  man,  who  just  now  passed  us?  I  think  I 
should  know  him.  I  begin  to  feel  fatigued.  We  shall 
soon  be  home.  Ah  that  wheelbarrow ! — take  care  of 
the  wheelbarrow,  cousin! — there's  no  walking  for 
wheelbarrows!  That's  Mr.  Zany.  Here  before  us. 
Well:  I  have  seen  his  father  wheel  oisters — a  strange 
world  this!  such  upsand  downs!  Thank  God, no  rela- 
tion of  mine Home  at  last — quite  exhausted — no 

place  like  home.  Besey,  has  Dr.  Sanative  been  here? 
Cousin,  take  a  chair — sit  nigh  the  fire — the  morning  is 
cool.  Cold  weather  is  my  aversion.  How  strangely  I'm 
altered:  a  few  years  ago,  no  cold  could  affect  me;  but 
now,  if  I  stir  out,  I  'm  sure  to  catch  cold.  All  the  cloth- 
ing don't  seem  to  keep  me  warm ;  but  my  feet  get  damp : 
and  then  I  'm  sure  of  a  fresh  attack  on  my  breast — hem 
hem.  I  hope  this  walk  will  do  me  no  injury;  but  I'm 
strangely  altered  of  late — I  begin  to  feel  the  infirmities 
of  old  age.  A  walk  used  always  to  revive  me;  but  now 
— I  can't  tell  how — I  think  it's  rather  a  disadvantage. 
Would  you  believe  it  cousin?  the  other  day  I  was  taken 
with  akind  of  dizziness — a  singing  in  my  ears — a  loss  of 
sight — and  if  I  had  not  leaned  on  something  (I  forget 
what  it  was)  I  should  have  fallen.  Well:  I  hope  these 
warnings  will  not  be  lost  on  me.  Death  is  a  friend  to  the 
afflicted ;  and  I  have  had,  God  knows,  my  share  of  afflic 


THE    SAVAGE.  123 

tion.  I  shall  attend  the  summons  with  joy — I  hope  I'm 
prepared  for  the  change.  The  doctor  says  my  giddiness 
was  owing  to  an  empty  stomach.  Indeed  1  had  eaten 
nothing  that  morning.  I  have  a  very  poor  appetite — 
sometimes  I  don't  eat  an  ounce  in  twenty  four  hours. 
Cousin,  I  can't  stand  it  long.  Such  a  complication  of 
diseases:  rheumatism — pain  in  my  side — hacking  cough 
— flatulencies — dizziness — general  debility — and  then 
old  age.  I'm  now  in  my  sixty  ninth  year — no,  I  shall 
be  sixty  eight  next  christmas.  How  time  slips  away !  it 
seems  but  yesterday  that  I  was  a  child — what  a  romp  I 
was! — my  poor  old  mother  used  to  call  me  a  perfect 
hoiden.  What  a  change  has  taken  place  in  a  few  years! 
Ithink,somehowor  other,  I'm  very  unfortunate.  There's 
old  John  Stout — he's  almost  eighty  years  of  age;  and 
walks  without  a  cane.  But  we  must  submit  to  our  lot — 
ay,  the  Lord  teach  us  submission!  Dr.  Sanative  saysthat 
mysymptomsare  not  dangerous.  He  tells  me  they  are 
owing  to  indigestion;  and.  that  the  crudities — but  I  can- 
not remember  now  what  he  said  they  were  owing  to; 
however  he  made  it  perfectly  plain  at  the  time.  He  says 
that  nourishing  diet  and  gentle  exercise  will  restore  my 
health — the  Lord's  will  be  done!  You  cant  think,  cou- 
sin, how  my  sight  has  failed  of  late!  In  a  few  years,  at 
this  rate, I  shall  be  quite  blind.  Lord  bless  me!  it  would 

be  a  great  trial  to  lose  my  sight;  but  the  doctor " 

Here,  as  the  gods  would  have  it,  there  was  a  cry  of  lire 
in  the  street;  and  I  started  up  and  made  my  escape. 
She  called  after  me,  however,  and  said  that  she  must  see 
me  every  other  day  at  the  least.  You  are  not  to  suppose, 
Piomingo,  that  I  have  related  the  one  hundredth  part  of 
her  discourse.  No;  I  have  only  mentioned  some  of  her 
observations:  She  talked  three  full  hours — what  an  eter- 
nity! And  during  the  whole  course  of  the  harangue,  it 
is  expected  that  I  should  sit  perfectly  still,  keeping  my 
eyes  fixed  continually  on  the  speaker,  without  taking 
any  other  part  in  the  conversation  than  barely  giving  the 
requisite  assents  and  negations;  and  judiciously  inter- 
posing such  expressions  of  admiration  as  the  following: 


124  THE    SAVAGE. 

if 

so!  indeed!  is  it  posible? strange1!  surprising!  amazing! 
good  God!  who  would  have  thought  it?  And  these  in 
terjectory  exclamations  are  not  to  be  thrown  in  at  ran- 
dom. No:  very  far  from  it;  they  are  to  be  suited  to  the 
changes  of  the  discourse  and  the  emotions  of  the  speak- 
er. Should  I  at  any  time  give  a  nod  of  assent  instead  of 
a  sigh  of  regret,  the  mistake  would  be  fatal.  What  shall 
I  do,  Piomingo?  shall  I  live  or  die?  shall  I  have  recourse 
to  the  bowl  or  dagger?  or  shall  I  precipitate  myself  into 
the  river?  You  would  not  surely  have  me,  in  the  heyday 
of  youth,  to  sit,  'with  serious  sadness,'  and  listen  to  the 
everlasting  croakings  of  this^sorrowbringing  raven!" 

Piomingo^  Levius  fit  patientia,  quickquid  corrigere 
esnefas. 

Tom  Rattle.  Curse  your  heathen  lingo!  let  us  have 
plain  English;  but  I  believe  you  recommend  patience. 
O  yes,  it  is  very  easy  to  give  advice,  and  talk  about  pa- 
tience! but  if  you  were  in  my  place  I  fancy 

Piomingo.  Dear  Tom,  I  give  you  example,  as  well  as 
precept. 

Tom  Rattle.  How  so? 

Piomingo.  Have  I  not  listened  to  your  doleful  com- 
plaints, as  long  as  you  did  to  your  aunt's? 

Tom   Rattle.  Good  by. 

Piomingo.  Good  by,  Tom. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  X. 
SLAVERY. 

Slavery,  as  established  in  the  West  Indies  and  the 
southern  parts  of  the  union,  is  only  a  kind  of  premature, 
or  forced,  civilization.  Men  who  had  a  taste  for  the  luxu- 
rious enjoyments  of  the  old  world  were  dissatisfied  with 
the  state  of  society  in  which  they  were  placed:  there 
was  so  much  savage  equality  among  the  people,  that  they 
were  unable  to  procure  laborers.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Must  every  man  work  for  himself?  "Horrible  idea!"  said 
an  orator,  on  the  foregoing  question  being  asked  in  one 
of  their  legislative  assemblies,  "Horrible  idea!  Shall  we 
who  came  from  a  civilized  country,  where  the  good  work 


THE    SAVAGE.  125 

of  refinement  had  progressed  so  for  that  a  man  might  be 
bought  for  four  pence  a  day,  be  under  the  necessity  of 
maintaining  ourselves  by  our  own  individual  exertion? 
Shall  we  who  have  tasted  the  sweets  of  power,  have  no 
one  to  whom  we  may  give  directions,  and  utter  the  man- 
dates of  authority?  We  cannot  make  servants  of  each 
other;  for  our  settlement  in  this  barbarous  country  has 
brought  us  to  a  state  of  equality.  The  land  is  fertile  be- 
yond conception,  and  repays,  with  abundant  harvests, 
the  careless  labors  of  the  most  indolent  cultivator. — 
Where  men  find  it  so  easy  to  supply  all  their  necessities, 
there  is  nothing  will  induce  them  to  sweat  in  ourfields, 
or  become  assiduous  attendants  in  our  houses.  Could  we 
deny  them  the  privilege  of  cultivating  the  earth,  and 
reduce  them  to  a  state  of  starvation,  then,  indeed,  we 
might  find  them  suitable  instruments  for  the  gratification 
of  our  refined  propensities,  and  for  the  promotion  of  our 
sublimated  enjoyments;  but,  under  existing  circumstan- 
ces, this  is  wholly  impracticable.  Could  we  content  our- 
selves with  meat,  drink,  and  clothing,  and  be  satisfied  to 
dwell  in  hovels  merely  calculated  to  repel  the  inclemen- 
cies of  the  weather,  every  man  might  supply  his  own 
wants;  but  we  have  been  used  to  better  things.  We 
must  have  towering  palaces,  lordly  equipages,  and  soft 
luxurious  indulgences.  Now,  as  these  things  cannot  be 
enjoyed  without  the  subjection  and  distress  of  a  vast  ma- 
jority of  the  inhabitants  of  any  country,  it  therefore  fol- 
lows that  we  must  reduce  to  poverty  and  wretchedness 
a  multitude  of  our  fellow  creatures,  that  we,  a  little  flock, 
may  be  affluent  and  idle.  It  appears  somewhat  unjust, 
we  must  acknowledge,  that  the  happiness  of  the  many 
should  be  sacrificed,  in  order  that  the  few  may  partake 
of  the  feverish  enjoyments  of  luxury  and  power.  But 
why  should  we  moralize  on  the  subject?  We  must  have 
luxury  and  magnificence;  and  as  luxury  and  magnifi- 
cence cannot  be  procured  or  supported  without  misery 
and  want,  we  must  have  misery  and  want.  Could  we 
content  ourselves  to  wait  the  slow  progress  of  civilization, 
the  necessary  quantum  of  wretchedness  would  undoubt- 
L2 


126  THE    SAVAGE. 

edly  be  produced.  Property  will  accumulate  in  the  bands 
of  certain  fortunate  individuals ;  others  will  become  poor. 
The  rich  will  grow  proud,  luxurious,  overbearing;  and 
the  poor  will  become  obsequious,  degraded,  vitious,  mis- 
erable. There  will  be  nothing  but  arrogance  and  dis- 
simulation, oppression  and  distress,  the  tyrant  and  the 
slave.  The  seeds  of  civilization,  which  we  brought  from 
our  native  shores,  have  already  taken  root:  and  the  gol- 
den fruit  of  slavery  will  inevitably  be  produced.  But 
many  centuries  must  elapse  ere  it  ripen:  and  life,  alas, 
is  short.  We  must  be  numbered  with  the  dead  long  be- 
fore a  sufficiency  of  poverty  will  exist  to  answer  our 
purposes.  Can  we  make  use  of  no  artificial  heats  that 
will  hasten  the  growth  of  civilization !  Let  us  introduce 
domestic  and  hereditary  slavery:  although  we  live  in  a 
barbarous  country,  we  may  enjoy  all  those  advantages 
that  flow  from  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  ages.  This 
will  be  compendious  civilization."  Thus  spoke  the  coun- 
sellor. The  multitude  applauded;  and  made  haste  to 
follow  his  advice. 

Now,  although  we  will  not  undertake  to  say  that  the 
first  settlers  in  the  West  Indies,  or  any  where  else,  made 
use  of  such  reasonings  as  the  foregoing;  yet  we  have  no 
hesitation  in  declaring  that  the  true  cause  of  the  intro- 
duction of  this  species  of  slavery  was  the  difficulty  expe- 
rienced in  procuring  those  services  which  are  easily 
obtained  in  civilized  communities.  Domestic  slavery  ne- 
ver originates  but  among  a  barbarous  people — but  among 
a  people  where  considerable  equality  prevails ;  but  among 
a  people  who  are  neither  poor  nor  rich,  and  where  the 
disparity  of  ranks,  which  is  fostered  by  the  arts  of  refine- 
ment and  civilization,  is  unknown.  A  savage  people 
eager  to  grasp  at  the  luxuries  of  life  have  no  other  way 
to  gratify  their  desires,  but  by  the  introduction  of  domes- 
tic slavery.  Refined  and  polished  nations  never  have 
recourse  to  this  expedient:  eight  tenths  of  the  population 
being  already  in  a  state  of  downright  slavery.  Why  has 
not  African  slavery  been  introduced  into  England  and 
other  parts  of  Europe,  as  well  as  into  the  West  Indies 


THE    SAVAGE.  127 

and  the  United  States?     This  forbearance,  certainly, 
could  not  be  owing  to  any  religious  or  moral  motive. — 
To  enslave,  oppress  and  destroy  a  man  in  one  place  is 
as  great  a  crime  as  to  oppress,  enslave  and  and  destroy 
him  in  another.  The  labors  of  the  sugar  plantations  in 
the  islands,  and  of  the  gold  and  silver  mines  on  the  con- 
tinent of  America  are  carried  on  by  African  slaves;  why 
then  do  they  not  also  cultivate  the  fields  of  England, 
France  and  Spain?  For  this  plain  reason:  a  white  slave 
can  be  hired  for  less  than  would  maintain  a  black  one. 
Hence  it  is  plain,  that  there  is  no  motive,  no  temptation, 
to  induce  the  rulers  of  a  polished  nation  to  permit  the 
introduction  of  domestic  or  personal  slaves;  and  there- 
fore they  are  entitled  to  no  praise  ou  that  account.  We 
have  often  been  amused  with  the  boasting  rant  of  English 
poets  and  orators,  on  this  subject.     They  declaim  with 
vehement  passion  concerning  the  miseries  and  distresses 
to  which  the  Africans  are  subjected  in  the  West  India 
plantations;  and  at  the  same  time  eulogize  the  English 
constitution,  which  gives  freedom  to  every  slave  who 
may  touch  the  British  shores.  Now  this  is  airy  nonsense : 
the  price  of  labor  is  so  low  in  Great  Britain,  that  a  slave, 
which  you  would  be  compelled  to  maintain  in  summer 
and  winter,  in  sickness  and  health,  in   youth  and  old 
-age,  and  supply  with  all  the  necessaries  of  life,  would  be 
an  expensive  incumbrance.    No,  no,  the  English   are 
much  given  to  encourage  domestic  manufactures;  and 
the  slaves  manufactured  in  the  united  kingdom  are  fully 
sufficient  to  answer   every   demand  for  domestic  con- 
sumption, and  furnish  a  few,  as  usual,  tor  exportation. 
From  what  has  been  said,  it  appears  perfectly  plain 
that  this  species  of  slavery,  which  for  distinction's  sake 
we  have  denominated  domestic  slavery,  cannot  be  in- 
troduced into  a  civilized  community,  because  the  mar- 
ket is  already  overstocked  with  this  same  commodity; 
and   when  the   market  is  glutted  with   any  article  of 
trade, the  merchant  will  bealoser  who  transmits  a  fresh 
supply.    Although  a  slave  may  be  valuable  among  the 
present  semisavage  inhabitants  of  the  United  States, 


128  THE    SAVAGE. 

yet,  if  we  look  forward,  through  five  or  six  centuries,  to  a 
time,  when  all  the  western  lands,  now  unoccupied,  shall 
teem  with  population.  When  the  venerable  forests  shall 
be  forgotten,  and  cultured  fields  and  smiling  villages  be 
seen  in  every  direction;  when  fifty  Londons  shall  be 
found  on  the  seaboard,  and  a  thousand  Birminghams  in 
the  interior;  when  laborers  may  be  hired  for  six  cents  a 
day — then  who  will  be  willing  to  give  a  thousand  dol- 
lars for  an  African  slave?  The  country  will  be  then  so 
thoroughly  civilized,  and  white  slaves  will  be  so  numer- 
ous, that  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  fresh  importations 
from  Africa.  Hence  it  follows  that,  when  the  neces- 
sary quantum  of  slavery  shall  be  produced  by  the  pro- 
gress of  refinement  and  civilization,  the  Africans  will 
gain  their  manumission:  that  is,  they  will  cease  to  be 
slaves  to  individuals,  and  become  slaves  to  the  communi- 
ty of  the  opulent.  And,  after  a  minute  and  careful  in- 
vestigation of  the  subject,  we  give  it  as  our  candid  and 
deliberate  opinion,  that  they  will  lose  by  the  change. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

A  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age  came,  the  other  dayj 
into  our  study.  He  addressed  us  in  a  pompous  formal 
manner,  and  desired  to  know  if  we  had  a  family.  We 
thought  it  a  little  singular  that  a  stranger  should  take 
the  liberty  to  inquire  into  our  private  concerns;  there- 
fore we  made  no  direct  answer  to  his  authoritative  de- 
mand, but  desired  to  know  in  our  turn,  if  he  were  tak- 
ing the  census.  "No,sir,"  said  he, "I  am  a  schoolmaster; 
and  as  you  have  lately  settled  in  our  neighborhood,  I 
did  not  know  but  you  might  have  some  children  tawhom 
you  might  wish  to  give  a  christian  education.  You  are, 
yourself,  they  tell  me,  a  savage;  and  it  is  likely  you  will 
not  be  disposed  to  give  up  the  gods  of  your  fathers,  in 
youroldage;  butcouldform  noobjection  I  should  think, 
to  the  plan  of  having  your  children  instructed  in  the 
benign  principles  of  the  gospel.  However,  if  you  are 
conscientious  in  these  things,  I  will  not  undertake  to  in- 


THE    SAVAGE.  1*29 

tcrpose  with  my  advice.  I  am  a  christian  5  you  arc  a  hea- 
then: and  each  has  a  right  to  enjoy  his  respective  opin- 
ions; but  we  may  do  each  other  a  good  turn  noth with- 
standing. Send  your  sons  to  my  select  academy  for  young 
gentlemcm; and  I  prommise,upon  myhonor,  thatyou  will 
have  no  reason  to  repent  that  you  have  placed  them  un- 
der my  care.  Furnish  them  with  a  savage  catechism  con- 
taining the  principles  of  the  Muscogulgee  religion;  and 
I  shall  use  the  same  exertions  to  have  them  carefully  in- 
structed in  the  doctrines  of  your  savage  forefathers,  that 
I  do  to  have  my  other  pupils  imbued  with  the  princi- 
ples of  Christianity." 

Piomingo.  You  are  very  accomodating,  indeed,  my 
friend;  but  will  you  not  find  it  a  little  difficult  to  incul- 
cate, at  one  moment,  on  certain  of  your  scholars,  the 
necessity  of  believing  in  the  Indian  doctrines  as  the  dic- 
tates of  eternal  truth;  and  the  next  instant,  to  inform 
another  set  of  your  disciples,that  what  you  had  just  be- 
fore been  dictating  was  a  mere  fiction,  and  totally  un- 
worthy of  credit? 

Schoolmaster.  Not  at  all:  I  shuld  consider  myself,  in 
that  case,  as  a  mere  instrument  which  you  had  thought 
proper  to  employ  for  the  purpose  of  infusinginto  the  minds 
of  your  offspring  those  principles  that  best  pleased  you. 

Piomingo,  You  form  a  very  correct  idea  of  the  nature 
of  your  employment.    Pray  what  do  you  teach  ? 

Schoolmaster.  At  my  select  academy 

Piomingo.  Pardon  me  my  dear  sir,  for  the  present  in- 
terruption— what  do  you  mean  by  academy?  Do  you  in- 
struct your  scholars  in  a  place  resembling  that  enclosure 
where  Plato  taught  philosophy  on  the  banks  of  the  II  yssus  ? 

Schoolmaster.  Plato! — 1  have  not  read  Plato  since  I 
was  a  boy — O,  now  I  remember,  he  was  a  celebrated 
schoolmaster:  he  taught  an  academy  at  Athens.  Acade- 
my, sir,  is  the  Latin  for  school.  No  genteel  teachernow 
ever  makes  use  of  the  word  school.  We  have  nothingbut 
academies  :dancing,d  rawing,  riding,  fencing,academies; 
and  academies  for  the  instruction  ofyoungladiesand  gen- 
tleman in  all  the  branches  of  polite  and  useful  literature. 


130  THE    SAVAGE. 

Piomingo.  Thank  you  sir:  you  have  satisfied  me  on 
that  point.  You  were  about  to  inform  me  what  branches 
were  taught  in  your  select  academy  for  the  instruction  of 
young  gentlemen. 

Schoolmaster.  Yes  sir:  at  my  select  academy  for  the  in- 
struction of  young  gentlemen  are  taught  reading,  chiro- 
graphy,arithmetic,bookkeeping,geography  with  the  use 
the  globes,  maps  and  charts,  mensuration  of  superfices 
and  solids,  longimetry,  altimetry,  gauging,  algebra,  ge- 
ometry, trigonometry,  surveying,  navigation  with  solar, 
lunar  and  astral  observations,  English  grammar,  rhetoric, 
composition,  logic,  history,  chronology,  mythology,  phi- 
lology, natural  philosophy,  astronomy,  and,  in  fine,  even- 
branch  of  polite,  elegant  and  useful  literature.  Here 
is  one  of  my  cards. 

Piomingo*  You  promise  very  fair:  you  may  consider 
me  as  a  standing  subscriber  to  your  school — your  select 
academy,  I  mean.  I  think  it  my  duty  to  encourage  a  man 
of  your  extraordinary  endowments;  but — 

Schoolmaster.  You  may  rest  assured,  my  dear  sir  that 
every  attention,  within  the  limits  of  my  power,  shall  be 
paid  to  the  young  Muscogulgee  gentlemen,  your  sons, 
which  you  are  about  to  enstrust  to  my  care.  I  promise 
you  sincerely,  Mr.  Piomingo,  that  I  never  will  abuse 
any  confidence  that  is  placed  in  me.  I  consider  it  as  a 
sacred  duty,  which  I  owe  to  my  patrons,  to  my  country 
and  to  myself,  that  my  pupils  should  be  not  only  en- 
couraged in  the  pursuit  of  elegant  and  useful  learning; 
but  that  their  manners  should  be  formed  in  the  most 
genteel  style,  and  ther  morals  sedulously  guarded  from 
every  species  of  contamination — Here  is  a  copy  of  my 
rules — How  many  of  the  young  gentlemen  do  you  pro- 
pose sending  to  my  select  academy'/ 

Piomingo.  I  have  not  any  to  send. 

Schoolmaster.  Sir! 

Piomingo.  Ifyou  think  proper  to  comply  with  a  re- 
quisition I  am  about  to  make,  I  will  consider  myself  as  an- 
swerable to  you  for  the  price  of  tuition  of  two  scholars 
as  long  as  we  continue  neighbors.     I  wish  to  learn  some 


THE   SAVAGE.  131 

of  the  secrets  of  jour  profession:  there  are,  you  know, 
secrets  belonging  to  every  trade;  and  1  would  gladly  in- 
form myself  of  the  nature  of  the  system  of  education 
which  is  encouraged  by  the  illuminati  of  this  flourishing 
city.  No  disadvantage  can  arise  from  your  placing  this 
confidence  in  me:  I  give  you  my  savage  word,  that  I 
will  never  become  your  rival.  Now,  if  you  feci  disposed 
to  gratify  my  curiosity,  you  may  consider  me  as  one  of 
the  most  zealous  of  your  patrons. 

Schoolmaster  (after  a  pause.)  Sir,  you  are  right,  when 
you  suppose  that  we  gentlemen  of  the  abcedarian  de- 
partment of  literature  have  little  professional  secrets. 
Such  is  the  fact:  but  it  is  to  be  observed  in  our  favor,  that 
we  were  forced  into  this  line  of  conduct  by  our  employ- 
ers themselves.  When  we  dealt  honestly  and  openly  with 
them,  we  were  in  continual  danger  of  starvation;  but 
since  we  have  had  recourse  to  the  arts  of  deception,  we 
find  teaching  a  very  profitable  business.  When  men  are 
desirous  of  being  deceived,  and  hold  out  a  reward  for 
those  who  become  dextrous  impostors,  why  should  they 
not  be  gratified  in  so  reasonable  an  expectation!  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  be  so  candid  with  every  one?  but  as  I 
perceive  that  you  have  too  much  penetration  to  be  de- 
ceived by  a  string  of  highsounding  words,  and  that  you 
already  have  a  tolerable  idea  of  the  nature  of  those  arts 
by  which  we  gull  the  wise  men  of  the  earth,  I  shall  not 
hesitate  to  give  you  every  information  you  may  require. 

Piomingo.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  inform  me  why  all 
the  schools  or  academies  in  the  city  are  denominated  selectl 

Schoolmaster.  By  that,  sir,  we  intimate  to  the  public, 
that  we  teach  only  the  children  of  the  opulent;  and  in  a. 
country  where  nothing  is  found  to  confer  respect  or  cele- 
brity but  the  idea  of  wealth,  it  gives  an  air  of  gentility 
to  our  institutions,  which  we  find  highly  useful:  hundreds 
will  send  to  Mr.  Birch's  select  academy,  who  would  have 
treated  Thomas  Birch  and  his  school  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt. Multitudes,  who, by  the  mean  grovellingarts  now 
in  use,  have  added  cent  to  cent  until  they  have  amassed 
a  considerable  sum,  are  eager  to  shake  off  and  forget  the 


132  THE    SAVAGE. 

vulgarity  oftheiroriginbygivingtheir  offspring  what  they 
call  a  genteel  education.  They  are  straining  after  that 
undefinable  something  called  ton:  and  we  find  it  to  our 
advantage  to  encourage  this  propensity  in  our  patrons. 

Piomingo,  What  is  ton  ? 

Schoolmaster,  The  question  is  easily  asked;  but  I  shall 
find  it  difficult  to  give  you  a  satisfactory  answer.  It  is 
something  of  which  we  may  forma  confused  idea;  but 
which  we  find  it  impossible  to  describe.  It  is  like  the  urim 
and  thummim  on  the  breastplate  of  the  Jewish  high- 
priest:  volumes  have  been  written  to  throw  light  on  the 
subject;  but  it  is  still  involved  in  darkness  and  mystery. 
Among  the  moderns  it  is  always  found  to  accompany 
opulence  and  splendor.  It  is  a  kind  of  glory  which  sur- 
rounds the  head  of  the  golden  calf,  which  is  set  up  as 
the  object  of  universal  adoration. 

Piomingo.  The  enviable  few,  who  have  acquired  the 
high  polish  you  speak  of,  may  be  known,  I  suppose,  by 
their  ease  of  deportment,  conciliating  address,  and  sua- 
vity of  manners. 

Schoolmaster,  Permit  me  to  set  you  right  there,  sir: 
among  us,  arrogance,pride,  and  brutality  of  manners  are 
reckoned  eminently  genteel.  The  graces  and  courtesies, 
to  which  you  allude,  are  absolutely  unknown  among  the 
gay  world  of  a  commercial  city. 

Piomingo,  How  is  English  grammar  taught  in  the  se- 
lect academies  of  Philadelphia? 

Schoolmaster,  Why  sir,  it  became  fashionable,  a  few 
years  ago  to  talk  about  English  grammar.     We  imme- 
diately took  the  hint:  and  since  that  time  English  gram- 
mar has  been  taught  in  all  our  select  academies. 
Piomingo,  Do  you  understand  whatyou  profess  to  teach  ? 

Schoolmaster,  Understand? — not  at  all:  it  would  be 
hard  indeed,  if  we  were  obliged  to  learn  every  thing  we 
profess  to  teach!  Why  sir,  welay  it  down  as  a  universal 
rule  never  to  appear  ignorant  of  any  thing.  You  may 
observe  that  in  my  advertisements,  I  do  not  profess  to 
teach  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages:  you  are  not  to 
suppose  that  I  therefore  acknowledge  myself  to  be  ig- 


THE    SAVAGE.  133 

norant  of  those  languages.  By  no  means.  Should  any 
oneexpressan  inclination  to  have  his  son  instructed  in 
Hebrew,  Greek,  or  Latin, I  immediately  reply,  "My  dear 
sir,  I  should  be  very  happy  to  have  a  class  of  young  gen- 
tlemen, to  whom  J  might  give  instruction  in  those  lan- 
guages; but  they  have  become  quite  unfashionable  of 
late.  Gentlemen  of  the  first  respectability  in  the  city, 
whose  sons  are  of  course  designed  for  the  mercantile  pro- 
fession, inform  me  that  they  find  a  knowledge  of  the 
dead  languages  altogether  useless.  They  are  therefore 
determined  that  their  sons  shall  not  be  impeded  in  the 
acquisition  of  useful  information  by  filling  their  heads 
with  such  antiquated  rubbish."  Now,  as  the  business  of 
a  merchant  is  the  object  of  universal  ambition  with  this 
moneyloving  people,  I  always  find  this  answer  perfectly 
satisfactory  and  decisive.  But  I  believe  you  spoke  of 
English  grammar  in  particular. 

Piomingo.  Yes,  sir. 

Schoolmaster.  As  to  grammar,  I  have  taught  it  in  my 
select  academy,  these  seven  or  eight  years;  but  if  there 
be  any  sense  in  it,  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  have  never 
found  it  out.  I  however  teach  my  pupils  to  repeat  a  long 
story  about  nouns,  pronouns,  verbs,  participles,  &c.  and 
this  answers  every  purpose.  None  of  my  employers  are 
able  to  detect  the  imposition.  The  young  gentlemen  can 
tell  how  many  parts  of  speech  there  are;  talk  of  nouns 
common  and  proper,  of  transitive  and  intransitive  verbs: 
-but  upon  my  honor,  sir,  they  have  no  more  idea  of  the 
meaningof  what  they  repeat,  thanlhave  of  the  language 
of  the  antediluvians.  And  then  it  is  diverting  to  observe 
how  the  fond  parents  are  gratified  by  this  display  of  the 
grammatical  knowledge  of  their  promising  offspring; 
and  how  the  fame  of  the  teacher  is  extended  by  the 
philological  intelligence  of  his  accomplished  scholars! 
Piomingo.  Am  I  to  suppose  thatyou  are  equally  ignorant 
of  all  the  other  branches  taught  in  your  select  academy? 

Schonlmaster.  No:  I  can  read  tolerably  well;  but  it 
must  be  granted,  at  the  same  time,  that  I  am  very  apt  to 
make  risible  blunders  in  pronunciation.  However,  where 
M 


134  THE    SAVAGE. 

one  reads  better,  five  hundred  read  worse,  than  I  do.  I 
never  seem  at  a  loss :  and  if  any  intelligent  person  should, 
by  accident,  be  present  and  attempt  to  correct  any  of 
my  errors,  I  laugh  at  his  presumption;  and,  as  there  is 
always  a  majority  of  fools  in  every  mixed  company,  I 
generally  come  off  triumphant.  1  write  a  good  hand ;  but 
do  not  spell  very  correctly.  I  understand  as  much  arith- 
metic as  is  usually  taught  in  schools:  and  this  is  the  ex- 
tent of  my  scientifical  acquirements.  It  must  be  remarked 
also,  that  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  1  have  acquired  a 
smattering  in  various  departments  of  literature,  which 
enables  me  to  put  on  the  appearance  of  wisdom,  and  to 
declaim  with  the  utmost  pomposity  and  assurance.  I  can 
talk  fluently  of  fifty  different  authors,  one  of  which  I 
have  never  read,  and  give  my  opinion  of  their  merits 
respectively.  I  know  that  Homer  is  the  father  of  poetry; 
that  he  gives  an  account  of  the  heathen  gods,  and  the 
destruction  of  Troy ;  that  he  wrote  in  Greek ;  that  he  was 
blind :  and  that  seven  cities  were,  each,  emulous  of  being 
considered  as  the  place  of  his  birth.  I  know  that  the  Iliad 
is  more  animated  than  the  Odyssey;  that  Achilles  was 
fierce,  and  Ulysses  crafty;  that  the  siege  of  Troy  was 
continued  for  ten  years;  and  that  the  wooden  horse 
proved,  at  last,  the  means  of  its  destruction. 

Should  any  one  desire  to  hear  my  opinion  of  the  re- 
spective merits  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  I  give,  without  hesi- 
tation, a  decided  opinion  in  favor  of  the  former.  I  assert, 
with  the  greatest  promptitude,  that  as  to  genius — (here^ 
to  display  my  erudition,  1  interpose  a  Latin  proverb, 
Poeta  nascitur,  non  fit]  for  you  must  know  that  I  have 
picked  up  four  or  five  scraps  of  this  kind,  which  I  intro- 
duce occasionally  to  the  great  edification  of  my  hearers,) 
that  as  to  genius,  which  is  the  grand  characteristic  of  a 
poet,  Homer  is  infinitely  superior.  Virgil,  indeed,  I  add, 
is  more  elaborate  and  correct:  but  he  is  indebted  for 
almost  every  thing  to  his  great  predecessor. 

Piomingo.  Butyou  certainly  do  not  presume  to  run  a  pa- 
rallel between  these  poets  without  having  read  the 
originals. 


THE    SAVAGE.  135 

Schoolmaster.  I  assure  you  sir,  that  I  do.  Without  .hav- 
ing read  the  originals !  I  have  not  even  read  the  English 
translations;  and  I  cannot  pronounce,  correctly,  one  in 
ten  of  the  proper  names  that  must  necessarily  occur  in 
those  translations. 

Piomingo.  Are  you  not  afraid,  at  times,  of  exposing 
your  ignorance? 

Schoolmaster.  Expose  my  ignorance!  To  whom?  to 
people  more  ignorant  than  myself?  Myknowledge,which 
in  reality  is  not  extensive,  when  compared  with  that  of 
others,  rises  into  importance:  and  what  is  still  better,  my 
character,  as  a  man  of  substance  and  a  profound  scholar, 
is  firmly  established.  Doyousuppose,Piomingo,thatany 
intelligent  animal,  who  wears  a  worse  coat  than  I  do, 
would  dare  to  dispute  any  of  my  authoritative  sayings? 
I  should  laugh  in  his  face  if  he  did ;  and  my  laugh  would 
be  echoed  by  every  ignorant  pretender  to  knowledge. 
No:  nothing  can  injure  my  literary  reputation  but  the 
appearance  of  poverty ;  and  you  may  believe  me,  Piomin- 
go,I  endeavor  tokeep  that  at  as  great  a  distance  as  possi  ble. 

Piomingo.  Although  you  are  continually  acknowledg- 
ing your  ignorance,  I  must  confess  that  I  find  your  con- 
versation very  instructive.  You  criticise  likewise  the 
productions  of  the  moderns? 

Schoolmaster.  Certainly:  lean  talk  fluently  of  the  su- 
blimity of  Milton,  the  majestic  march  of  Dryden,  the  mel- 
l i  jluousvcrsification  of 'Pope,  the  humor  of Swift,  the  conci its 
of  Cowley,  the  descriptive  pozvers  of  Thompson,  the  grand 
obscurity  of  Gray,  and  the  sweet  simplicity  of  Goldsmith. 

Piomingo.  These  are  authors  you  have  read. 

Schoolmaster.  I  have  read  the  titlepages  of  some  of 
them,  and  sometimes  perused  elegant  extracts,  prominent 
beauties,  and  entertaining  selections,  brought  into  view  by 
the  disinterested  care  and  refined  taste  of  ingenious  and 
learned  booksellers.  It  is  by  no  means  necessary  that  a 
man  should  read  a  poem  in  order  to  be  able  to  pronounce 
sentence  on  its  merits:  nothing  more  isjnecessary  than 
to  fall  in  with  the  prevailing  opinion,  and  utter  every 
sentence    with  the  appearance   of  profound  wisdom. 


136  THE    SAVAGE. 

There  is  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  for  example:  I  have 
never  read  a  dozen  lines  of  it,  but  what  I  met  with  in 
ScotPs  Lessons  and  Burgh's  Art  of  Speaking;  yet  no  man 
can  talk  with  more  fluency  of  the  grandeur  of  ideas  and 
daring  imagination  of  the  immortal  bard,  than  I  can.  In 
fine,  1  have  discovered  an  indubitable  truth :  that  knowl- 
edge is  acquired  with  difficulty ;  but, that  the  appearance 
of  knowledge,  which  is  quite  as  good,  is  easily  attained. 

Piomingo.  You  give  your  opinion  likewise  of  writers 
in  prose. 

Schoolmaster,  Readily:  I  know  that  the  style  of  Addison 
isnatural  and  idiomatic;  and  thatof  Johnson,  lofty  and  ma- 
jestic— Ex  pede  Herculem:  that  is  another  of  my  Latin 
phrases.  I  have  got  festina  lente  and  three  or  four  besides. 

Piomingo.  Have  you  ever  read  the  works  of  Addison 
or  Johnson? 

Schoolmaster.  Never. 

Piomingo.  Have  you  any  knowledge  of  dramatic 
criticism? 

Schoolmaster.  I  attend  the  theatre;  I  have  learned  the 
common  playhouse  slang;  and  sing  hosannas  to  the  great 
bard  of  nature.  I  talk  of  ancient  wit,  modern  senti- 
ment, and  the  pernicious  effects  of  the  German  drama! 

Piomingo.  Your  discourse  has  been  so  interesting  that 
I  found  it  impossible  to  interrupt  you,  though  I  think  we 
have  rather  wandered  from  our  subject:  1  believe  you 
intimated  a  while  ago  that  when  you  commenced 
teacher,  you  pursued  a  different  plan  from  that  by 
which  your  conduct  is  at  present  regulated. 

Schoolmaster. 'I  did:  I  was, even  at  that  time,  able  to 
form  a  tolerably  correct  idea  of  the  extent  of  my  own 
acquirements;  and  I  endeavored,  with  the  utmost  assi- 
duity, to  communicate  to  my  pupils  the  knowledge  of 
which  I  was  possessed,  The  industrious  and  attentive,  I 
encouraged  and  rewarded ;  the  indolent  and  vitious  I  re- 
primanded and  corrected.  This  plan  I  followed  for  some 
time;  but,  ere  I  was  aware,  my  school  dwindled  to  no- 
thing. Every  man  conceives  that  his  o w  n  son  is  not  only 
a  genius  of  the  most  exalted  order,  but  also  a  paragon 


THE    SAVAGE.  137 

of  virtue  :now,as  I  had  dared  to  form  a  different  opinion, 
it  was  thought  altogether  proper  that  these  promising 
sons  of  enlightened  fathers  should  be  moved  from  their 
present  situation,  and  placed  under  the  care  of  some  cel- 
ebrated preceptor  who  would  be  able  to  form  a  correct 
estimate  of  the  brilliancy  of  their  talents. 

Every  mother  considers  her  son  a  hero  in  miniature, 
rash  daring  ambitious;  too  noble  to  be  controlled  by  a 
cold  formal  pedagogue,  and  too  highspirited  to  submit  to 
any  species  of  chastisement.  She  is  always  heard  to  ob- 
serve that  her  "children  may  be  led  but  cannot  be  dri- 
ven: they  have  a  spirit  above  it."  Now,  as  I  conceived 
this  high  spirit  to  be  nothing  else  than  childish  obstinacy 
engendered  by  the  weak  indulgence  of  silly  mothers,I  re- 
solved that  it  should  be  humbled,  and  when  any  of  my 
highminded  pupils  were  not  disposed  to  be  led,  I  imme- 
diately had  recourse  to  my  compulsory  process.  It  is  ve- 
ry possible  that  I  was  walking  in  the  path  of  duty;  but 
I  found  myself  diverging  so  widely  from  the  line  of  self 
interest,  that  I  became  rather  jneasy.  Whatever  might 
be  the  motives  of  my  conduct,  the  consequence  was  pal- 
pable enough:  my  school  was  deserted.  I  saw  my  error, 
and  wisely  determined  to  correct  it. 

I  removed  to  a  central  part  of  (he  city,  and  instantly 
opened  a  select  academy  for  the  instruction  of  young 
gentlemen.  My  first  care  was  to  puff  myself  in  the  news- 
papers in  the  following  manner: 

Mr.  Birch  has  the  honor  to  inform  an  enlightened  and 
generous  public,  that  he  has  determined  to  devote  his 
time  to  the  tuition  of  a  select  and  limited  number  of 
young  gentlemen. 

"Mr.  B.  is  possessed  of  all  those  advantages  that  flow 
from  a  polite  and  liberal  education ;  and  he  flatters  himself 
that  he  is  fully  competent  to  the  task  of  conveying  instruc- 
tion in  the  most  fashionable  and  agreeable  manner. 

Mr.  B.  feels  a  just  abhorrence  for  the  old,  rigid  and 
compulsory  system  of  education,  which  has  a  direct  ten- 
dency to  terrify  the  tender  mind  and  give  it  a  distaste 
for  every  kind  of  instruction ;  and  he  has  the  utmost  plea- 
M2 


138  THE    SAVAGE. 

sure  in  having  the  honor  to  announce  to  the  judicious  and 
intelligent  part  of  the  community  that,  by  studious  atten- 
tion, he  has  devised  a  plan  whereby  the  otherwise  irk- 
some business  of  education  will  be  rendered  agreeable 
and  entertaining."  But  why  should  I  repeat  the  whole?  I 
went  on  in  the  usual  puffing  style,  and  made  the  neces- 
sary promises  of  forming  the  manners  and  watching  over 
the  morals  of  my  pupils.  Everything  succeeded  agree- 
ably to  my  wishes.  All  the  world  were  eager  to  have 
their  sons  instructed  at  Mr.  Birch's  new  and  fashionable 
academy,  where  learning  was  made  so  amusing,  and  the 
affairs  were  transacted  in  a  style  so  genteel  and  so  splen- 
did. I  resolved  to  give  myself  no  uneasiness  about  the 
progress  of  my  scholars  in  the  paths  of  literature,  but  to 
devote  my  undivided  attention  to  the  business  of  amusing 
my  young  gentlemen,  and  flattering  the  vanity  of  their 
parents.  The  boys  were  employed  in  spouting,  writing 
verses,  drawing  pictures,  and  receiving  diplomas  and 
certificates:  which  they  carried  home  and  exhibited  as 
testimonials  of  their  proficiency  in  scientifical  pursuits. 
I  instituted  quarterly  examinations;  cards  of  invitation 
were  sent  to  my  patrons  to  comeand  judgeof  the  literary 
acquirements  of  their  children  confided  to  mj  care;  spe- 
cimens of  writing,  prepared  for  the  occasion,  were  ex- 
hibited; the  young  gentlemen  were  examined  in  arith- 
metic,grammar,  geography,  chronology,  mythology;  and 
the  entertainment  concluded  with  a  spouting  match. 

Piomingo.  1  cannot  conceive,  how  you  managed  the 
examination. 

Schoolmaster.  Nothing  easier:  by  the  assistance  of  a  few 
books,  which  are  easily  procured,  1  had  prepared  my  dis- 
ciples to  answer  some  general  questions  on  each  of  these 
subjects;  and  these  were  the  only  questions  I  asked. 

Piomingo,  How  did  you  conduct  the  spouting  match? 

Schoolmaster.  Why,  we  delivered  "Sempronius' speech 
for  war,"  "Lucius'  speech  for  peace,"  "the  diologue  be- 
tween Brutus  and  Cassius"  and  "Antony's  oration  over 
Cesar's  dead  body."  We  sacrificed  "Hector  and  Andro- 
mache," mangled  "a  hymn  to  adversity,"  and  murdered 


THE    SAVAGE.  139 

an  "ode  on  the  passions."  I  must  not  forget  to  mention 
that  one  of  my  most  surprising  geniuses  committed  to 
memory  an  oration  found  in  the  works  of  a  certain  author 
and  passed  it  on  the  enlightened  assembly  as  his  own  com- 
position; but  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  that:  this 
trick  has  often  been  practised  before  in  the  seminaries 
of  Philadelphia.  O  how  delightful  it  was  to  behold  the 
mouthing,  and  stamping  and  sawing  the  air!  the  smiles 
and  the  grins,  and  the  furious  gesticulations!  While  the 
fond  parents 

Smil'd  and  look'd,  sniil'd  and  look'd, 
And  smil'd  and  look'd  again — 

each  one  imagining  that  he  saw,  in  his  favorite  son,  some 
future  Demosthenes,  Cicero,  Chatham,  Burke,  or  Fox. 

In  faith,  'twas  strange 'twas  passing  strange! 
'Twas  pitiful, 'twas  wondrous  pitiful! 

The  young  gentlemen  received  the  unanimous  ap- 
plause of  the  polite  assembly;  the  most  extravagant  en- 
comiums were  bestowed  on  the  care  and  assiduity  of  the 
teacher;  and  the  fame  of  his  select  academy  was  ex- 
tended throughout  the  city. 

But  a  great  part  of  my  success  depends  upon  the  man- 
ner in  which  1  eulogize  the  children  to  their  respective 
parents.  And,  although  I  firmly  believe  that  some  of 
them  have  discernment  enough  to  perceive  my  motive 
for  so  doing,  still,  this  flattery  is  so  delightful  to  every  pa- 
rental ear,  that  they  are  universally  carried  away  by  the 
pleasing  delusion.  "Well,  Mr.  Birch,"  says  Mrs.  Bom- 
bysine,  "what  do  you  think  of  my  Bobby?"  "Think, 
ma'am,  I  protest  I  think  him  the  most  astonishing  child 
in  the  world!  He  is  a  prodigy  of  genius!  Upon  my  word, 
ma'am,  he  appears  to  know  every  thing  intuitively.  I 
was  taken  withhis  appearance  at  first  sight.  I  wasstruck 
with  something  uncommon  in  his  countenance,  which 
seemed  to  prognosticate  future  greatness.  And  then  he 
is  so  irresistibly  interesting — I  think  he  very  much  re- 
sembles you  ma'am."  "Do  you  think  so,  Mr.  Birch? 
Why  1  do  not  know:  he  is  said  to  be  like  Mr.  Bomby- 
sine."  "True  ma'am,  very  true  ma'am,  in  the  outlines  of 


140  THE    SAVAGE. 

his  countenance;  but  the  genius  of  his  mother  beams  in 
his  eyes !  You  will  please  to  permit  me  to  express  my 
opinion  freely  on  this  subject:  in  these  matters  I  conceive 
that  my  judgment  is  to  be  depended  upon.  Your  son  will 
one  day  fill  a  distinguished  place  in  the  republic  of  let- 
ters." "What  turn  do  you  think  he  will  have  for  public 
speaking, Mr.  Birch?"  "Upon  my  honor,  ma'am,  he  has 
a  wonderful  talent  for  declamation.  Did  you  observe, 
ma'am,  with  what  a  nobie  air  he  came  forward!  how 
fluent  his  delivery!  how  natural  and  easy  his  gestures! 
Yes,  I  can  foretel  with  certainty  that  his  elocution,  in  our 
great  national  council,  will  fill  the  world  with  astonish- 
ment." "I  am  pretty  much  of  your  opinion,  Mr.  Birch,  as 
to  Bobby's  talents  for  elocution;  and  I  have  often  puzzled 
my  brain  by  endeavoring  to  determine  which  of  the 
learned  professions  would  best  fall  in  with  the  bent  of  his 
genius.  I  would  rather  depend  upon  your  judgment,  in 
this  interesting  affair,  than  on  that  of  any  other  man  I 
know.  Mr.  Bombysine  seems  inclined  to  make  him  a 
physician;  but  it  seems  to  me,  that,  in  that  calling,  his 
oratorical  abilities  would  be  totally  lostto  the  community. 
We  do  not  receive  talents,  Mr.  Birch,  to  hide  them  in  a 
napkin."  "Madam,  your  ideas  coincide  exactly  with 
mine.  lam  satisfied  that  he  would  make  an  eminent  phy- 
sician, should  his  studies  be  directed  that  way;  but,  as 
you  very  justly  observe,  that  employment  would  not  af- 
ford him  an  opportunity  of  displaying  his  rhetorical  pow- 
ers. The  profession  of  the  law  opens  more  pleasing  pros- 
pects: he  would  be  an  ornament  to  the  bar,  and  confer 
dignity  on  the  bench."  "True:  yet  I  always  used  to  think 
that  he  discovered  a  military  genius.  When  he  was  quite 
a  child,  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  I  could 
keep  him  in  the  house  on  those  days  when  the  troops 
were  parading  in  the  streets:  he  would  shoulder  his  fa- 
ther's cane  and  strut  across  the  room  with  an  air  so  con- 
sequential and  imperious! — you  would  have  split  your 
sides  with  laughing  had  you  seen  him."  "Your  observa- 
tions are  perfectly  correct,  ma'am;  he  has  indeed  a  martial 
air  when  he  moves;  and  there  is  something  so  majestic 


THE    SAVAGE.  141 

and  commanding  in  his  countenance — I  have  no  doubt, 
ma'am,  but  that  you  will  live  to  see  him  a  general  officer." 
"Well,  Mr.  Birch,  there  is  one  thing  certain:  you  have  a 
wonderful  talent  for  the  instruction  of  youth.  Every  one 
speaks  highly  of  your  abilities.  Do  you  find  the  employ- 
ment agreeable?"  "Were  all  my  pupils  such  as  your  son, 
my  business  would  not  only  be  pleasing  but  honorable." 

These,  Piomingo,  these  are  the  arts  by  which  I  ren- 
der the  vanity,  folly,  and  imbecility  of  the  world  the 
means  of  my  own  advancement.     Can  you  blame  me? 

Piomingo.  Not  I  truly:  I  think  you  are  perfectly  right. 
When  your  scholars  have  completed  their  education, 
what  have  they  learned? 

Schoolmaster.  To  chatter  about  every  thing,  and  un- 
derstand nothing. 


The  proposal  of  Crito  has  met  with  a  favorable  re- 
ception. We  will  receive  with  pleasure,  and  insert  with 
readiness,  his  philological  remarks.  However  unimpor- 
tant they  may  appear  to  him,  we  have  no  doubt  but  they 
will  prove  instructive  to  some  of  ourreaders,  and  agreea- 
ble to  all.  We  make  this  observation  with  more  confidence 
because  we  know  that  few  have  a  more  intimate  acquain- 
tance with  the  nature  of  the  English  language,  or  have 
studied  its  analogies  more  successfully,  than  Crito. 


THE  SAVAGE— NO.  XL 
PREJUDICE. 

Irad  pursued  his  journey  through  the  sandy  deserts 
of  Africa;  oppressed  with  fatigue  and  overcome  with 
thirst,  his  soul  died  within  him.  While  in  this  situation, 
he  beheld  at  a  distance  a  grove  of  palmtrees;  he  hastened 
to  the  place  and  found  a  well  of  delicious  water.  He 
drank  and  lay  down  to  repose.  But  ere  sleep  had  closed 
his  eyes,  he  began  to  reflect  on  his  present  situation:  "If 
Inow  proceed  on  my  journey,"  said  Irad,  "I  shall  reach 
the  place  of  my  abode  before  the  close  of  the  day;  but  if 
I  loiter  here,  I  shall  be  overtaken  by  night  and  devour- 


142  THE    SAVAGE. 

ed  by  the  beasts  of  the  desert.  I  must  not  linger  here:  I 
must  be  gone. — But  cool  is  the  breeze  that  plays  through 
the  leaves  of  the  palmtrees!  A  few  moments'  rest  in  this 
delightful  shade  will  not  prevent  me  from  performing  my 
journey."  While  he  yet  continued  to  prolong  this  indul- 
gence, he  fell  asleep;  nor  did  he  awake  till  the  going 
down  of  the  sun.  Terrified  at  approaching  darkness 
and  the  dangers  of  the  night,  he  mourned  bitterly  over 
the  folly  and  infatuation  which  had  governed  his  con- 
duct. The  horrors  which  surrounded  him  deprived  his 
mind  of  that  composure  and  deliberation,  which  were 
rendered  doubly  necessary  by  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  placed.  He  became  confused — he  wan- 
dered from  his  way — the  shades  of  evening  closed  in 
about  him — it  became  dark — he  was  encountered  by  a 
lion  in  search  of  prey — alas!  poor  Irad! — 

Had  lrad  known  the  consequences  that  would  result 
from  sleeping  beneath  the  palmtrees,  he  would  not  have 
lain  down:  the  cooling  breeze  and  the  refreshing  shade 
would  have  lost  their  tempting  sweetness.  He  would 
have  hastened  from  the  fountain  as  from  the  abode  of 
death,  and  pursued  his  way  with  vigor  and  alacrity. 

The  case  of  Irad  is  not  singular.  Who  is  there  that 
travels  in  the  laborious  paths  of  virtue,  without  ever 
turning  aside  into  the  flowery  fields  of  vice,  which  lie  on 
the  right  hand  and  on  the  left?  Who  is  there  that  has 
constantly  resisted  the  instigations  of  avarice,  the  whis- 
perings of  vanity,  the  suggestions  of  ambition,  the  im- 
pulses of  passion,  and  the  allurements  of  pleasure? 
Who  is  there  that  has  looked  upon  the  tree  of  vice,  and 
seen  that  it  "was  good  for  food,  and  that  it  was  pleasant 
to  the  eyes,  and  a  tree  to  be  desired  to  make  one  wise," 
and  has  not  taken  the  fruit,  and  eat  thereof?  Yet  were 
we  aware  of  the  evils  that  must  inevitably  result  from 
our  wanderings;  did  we  know  that  the  voice  of  the  sirens 
would  conduct  us  to  destruction;  were  we  fully  sat- 
isfied that  the  consequence  of  eating  the  "forbidden 
fruit"  would  be  death!  this  knowledge  would  strip 
vice  of  all   her   meretricious   charms — and  weak  hu- 


THE    SAVAGE.  143 

man   nature  would  be   able  to  resist  her  allurements. 

Proh  superi!  quantum  mortalia  pectora  crcca: 
Noctis  habcnt!— 

From  these  premises  it  appears  that  we  agree  in  opi- 
nion with  those  who  suppose  that  the  vices  and  follies  of 
man  arise  from  ignorance  or  intellectual  darkness;  and 
could  we  believe,  with  these  philosophers,  that  this  weak 
and  erring  man  could  be  transformed  into  a  god,  then 
we  should  become  a  convert  to  that  philosophy  which 
teaches  us  to  believe  that  the  empire  of  virtue  will  be 
established  by  the  diffusion  of  knowledge.  But  if  man  be 
by  nature  incapable  of  receiving  that  intelligence  which 
is  to  guide  him  in  the  paths  of  rectitude;  if  all  the  light 
that  he  can  receive  serve  only  to  discover  to  him  that  he 
is  surrounded  by  impenetrable  darkness;  if  it  only  give 
him  a  glimpse  of  proximate  objects,  and  tend  to  render 
him  discontented  with  his  situation;  why  should  we  feed 
ourselves  with  the  vain  hope  of  making  him  virtuous 
and  happy  by  giving  him  knowledge? 

There  is  one  being  who,  we  are  taught  to  believe, 
looks  through  universal  nature,  and  understands  all  ex- 
isting relations;  who  sees  through  a  chain  of  causes  and 
effects  from  eternity  to  eternity;  and  whose  mind  is  the 
fountain  of  truth :  this  being  must  necessarily  act  right; 
but  every  inferior  existence  must  be  limited  in  know- 
ledge, and  consequently,  liable  to  error.  And  what  shall 
we  say  of  man?  He  is  placed  so  low,  so  infinitely  low,  in 
the  scale  of  intelligence,that  any  light,  which  his  nature 
is  capable  of  receiving,  rather  has  a  tendency  to  mislead 
him,  by  encouraging  him  to  reason,  from  the  very  little 
that  he  knows,  concerning  that  universe  of  things  which 
remains  unknown.  He  looks  up  and  he  sees  "men  as 
trees  walking;"  and  from  this  imperfect  glimpse,  he  bold- 
ly forms  a  system  for  universal  nature! 

How  can  he  be  taught  to  foresee  the  consequences  of 
his  own  actions?  How  can  he  be  taught  to  know  that 
his  personal  interest  and  the  interest  of  every  other  be- 
ing in  existence  are  the  same?  How  can  he  be  taught 
to  know  that  he  cannot  injure  another  without  at  the 


144  THE    SAVAGE. 

same  time  injuring  himself?  When  all  his  prejudices 
are  eradicated,  and  when  he  is  enlightened,  as  much  as 
he  is  capable  of  being  enlightened,  will  he  not  still  con- 
clude that  his  own  interest  may  be  promoted  by  acts  of 
injustice?  But  man  is  so  weak,  his  knowledge  so  imper- 
fect, his  life  so  short,  that  he  must  always  be  governed 
by  prejudices :  and  it  is  a  happy  circumstance  when  these 
prejudices  are  of  a  salutary  nature. 

The  philosopher,  who  would  make  a  nation  of  virtu- 
ous men,  must  not  expect  to  do  it  merely  by  communi- 
cating knowledge:  he  must  regulate  their  conduct  by 
taking  advantage  of  their  feelings  and  passions:  he  must 
implant  salutary  prejudices,  and  eradicate  those  which 
are  pernicious:  he  must  make  them  act  uprightly,  honor- 
ably, nobly,  from  the  generous  impulse  of  their  minds, 
withoutany  cold  calculation, or  metaphysical  reasonings. 
Yes,  we  repeat  it,  he  must  establish  a  system  of  preju- 
dice. What  influenced  Leonidas  and  his  Spartan  band 
to  die  in  defence  of  their  country  ?  //  was  prejudice :  a  glo- 
rious, heroic,  godlike  prejudice,  implanted  in  the  mind 
of  the  nation  by  its  immortal  lawgiver.  Could  we  be  as- 
sured of  the  existence  of  such  a  prejudice  at  the  present 
day,  we  wouid  curse  the  philosophy  that  would  destroy  it. 

We  have  no  intention  of  entering  into  metaphysical 
disquistions,  but  were  led  into  these  thoughts  by  some 
observations  we  lately  heard  made  on  the  subject  of 
prejudices. 

It  was  asserted  "that  all  the  crimes,  vices,  and  follies,  of 
men  were  owing  to  ignorance;  that  knowledge  was  pro- 
gressing slowly  through  the  world,  and  would  finally  tri- 
umph over  prejudice,  vice,  and  misery;  and  that  nothing 
had  so  great  a  tendency  to  destroy  prejudices, and  render 
men  enlightened,civilized,and  munificent,as  commerce." 

It  appears  to  us,  that  truth  and  falsehood  are  so  inti- 
mately blended  in  this  statement,  that  they  cannot  be 
easily  separated.  We  have  no  doubt  that  vice  of  every 
kind  is  owing  to  ignorance:  no  man  willingly  loses  his 
way,  and  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  labyrinths  of  error: 
he  must  be  misled  by  false  appearances.  But  we  contend 


THE    SAVAGE. 


145 


that  the  nature  of  men  is  such,  that  they  cannot  be  kept 
in  tie  paths  of  rectitude,  or  their  conduct  regulated, 
merely  by  enlightening  their  understandings.  We  are 
an  enemy  to  those  prejudices  which  render  men  bigoted 
ferocious,  or  cruel:  yet  we  would  tremble  at  the  idea  of 
sweeping  from  the  lace  oft  lie  earth  every  species  of  opi- 
nions which  may  fall  under  the  description  of  prejudices. 

Before  wo  proceed  any  farther,  it  might  not  he  amiss 
to  give  some  explanation  of  the  term.  Prejudices  are 
opinions,  sentiments,  or  judgments,  which  exist  in  the 
mindsofmenwilhout  being  produced  byanypreviouspro- 
cess  of  reasoning:  tiiey  may  be  founded  on  truth  or  false- 
hood ;  they  may  bc*i.ntlieir effects, salutary  orpernicious. 

We  agree  that  nothing  has  so  great  a  tendency  to 
destroy  prejudices  ol  all  kinds  as  commerce.  The  in- 
tercourse it  promotes  among  men  of  different  nations, 
religions,  manners,  customs,  and  appearances,  must  con- 
tribute directly  to  annihilate  all  national  peculiarities,. 
Men  will  soon  find  that  they  all  agree  m  one  thing  only  \ 
and  this  one  thing  will  become  the  sole  motive  to  action 
in  the  mind  of  every  enlightened  meichant.  The  ac- 
cursed love  of  gain  swallows  up  every  thing  else  in  the 
breast  of  the  trader.  Nor  is  it  long  confined  to  the  mer- 
cantile class.  It  pervades  the  mass  of  the  community, 
and  exterminates  every  generous  passion,  salutary  pre- 
judice, pleasing  illusion, and  virtuous  propensity. 

PotrLtismhs  a  prejudice  which  is  incompatible  with 
the  pursuits  of  a  merchant.  •*  Where  your  treasure  is, 
there  will  your  heart  he  also."  He  becomes  interested 
as  much  in  the  concerns  of  foreign  nations  as  in  those  of 
bis  own  country.  He  divests  himself  of  every  childish 
partiality  in  favor  of  the  soil  which  gave  him  birth.  The 
passions  that  animated  the  bosom  of  a  Codrus,  a  Philo- 
poemen,  a  Decius,  a  Cato,  or  a  Brutus,  are  despised  by 
him  as  the  dreams  of  a  disordered  imagination. 

Let  it  not    be  said  that  he  becomes  a  citizen  of  the 
world:  that  his  amor  patriae  is  converted  into  a  love  of 
mankind  in  general — universal  philanthropy  never  flou- 
rishes where  patriotism  is  destroyed.  The  whole  world  i* 
N 


146 


THE    SAVAGE, 


too  mighty  an  object  for  his  affections;  and  the  more  he 
knows  of  the  world,  the  more  reason  he  finds  to  condemn 
it:  his  knowledge  of  its  perfidy  and  injustice  awakens 
suspicion  and  hatred.  He  still  loves;  but  the  object  of 
his  affections  is — self  only.  He  hails  national  calamities 
as  the  greatest  of  blessings,  if  they  contribute  to  the  suc- 
cess of  his  trade:  and  he  willingly  plunges  his  country 
into  war  for  the  proceeds  of  a  profitable  voyage. 

National  religion,  national  laws,  national  manners,  and 
purity  of  morals  are  quickly  contaminated,  and  finally 
destroyed,  by  the  prevalence  of  commerce.  When  a  man 
has  ceased  to  love  his  country,  he  gradually  ceases  to 
love  its  religion,  its  laws,  its  manners,  and  its  morals. 
When  he  has  ceased  to  give  it  the  preference  over  every 
other  country,  he  soon  ceases  to  love  and  esteem  its  dis- 
tinguishingparticularities.  Hebecomesacquaintedwith 
men  of  many  nations,  whose  various  religions,  govern- 
ments, and  manners  are  as  numerous  as  the  continents, 
islands  and  territories,  they  inhabit.  He  sees  them  every 
where  breaking  through  all  restraints  for  the  purpose  of 
accumulating  riches.  His  own  country  and  its  institu- 
tions having  ceased  to  be  objects  of  veneration,  the  salu- 
tary principles  of  his  education  are  forgotten  or  despised. 
His  morals  are  relaxed ;  and  he  adopts  a  pliant  system  of 
ethics  which  will  not  impede  his  progress  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  wealth.  The  love  of  gain  flourishes  in  his  soul, 
and  like  the  fabled  Upas  sheds  abroad  the  dew  of  death 
on  every  buddingvirtue.  He  freights  hisship  withshriek- 
ing  Africans  torn  from  the  bosom  of  their  country  and 
their  friends;  he  takes  convenient  oaths  to  evade  the  pay- 
ment of  duties;  and  he  tramples  on  the  cross  of  Christ  for 
the  sake  of  a  lucrative  trade!  [To  be  continued.'] 


FROM  CRITO. 

In  consequence  of  your  permission,  Piomingo,  I  shall 
take  the  liberty  occasionally  to  trouble  you  with  some 
remarks  on  language;  but  you  are  not  to  expect  any 
thing  like  connected  dissertations  or  regular  essays.  I 
shall  present  you,  when  I  find  leisure,  with  casual 


THE    SAVAGE.  117 

thoughts  and  desultory  observations,  on  philological  sub- 
jects: if  you  think  them  worthy  of  a  place  in  your  mis- 
cellany, it  is  well;  if  not  I  shall  be  satisfied. 

Those  who  left  the  island  of  Great  Britain,  and  settled 
in  a  wilderness,  certainly  forfeited  none  of  their  rights  to 
the  language  of  their  forefathers.  If  they  still  had  the 
liberty  of  speech,  they  must  necessarily  have  retained 
the  privilege  of  regulating  that  speech  in  the  manner 
most  agreeable  to  themselves.  Their  removal  from  an 
island  intimately  connected  with  surrounding  nations, 
and  their  settlement  on  an  immense  continent  far  distant 
from  the  European  world  must  inevitably  occasion  some 
slight  differences  to  exist  between  the  language  spoken 
by  the  people  of  the  United  States  and  that  spoken  by  the 
inhabitants  of  GreatBritain.  Many  words  familiar  to  our 
ancestors,  in  their  native  country,  must  have  fallen  into 
disuse  when  they  settled  here;  because  they  were  no  lon- 
ger conversant  with  the  things  to  which  these  words  were 
applied:  and  being  placed  in  a  new  world,  surrounded 
by  an  infinity  of  objects  of  which  they  had  no  previous 
knowledge,  they  were  under  the  necessity  either  ofinvent- 
ing  new  names  for  these  new  things,  or  of  applying  to  them 
terms  which  were  already  appropriated  to  other  objecte. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  causes  which  tend  to  pro- 
duce a  difference:  the  intercourse  that  subsists  between 
England  and  other  nations, her  foreign  possessions,  and 
extensive  commerce,  keep  her  language  in  a  state  of 
continual  fluctuation,  and  subject  it  to  changes  to  which 
the  language  of  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  is  not 
exposed.  From  this  consideration  it  appears  probable 
that  in  the  course  of  a  few  centuries  the  English  language 
will  be  found  in  much  greater  purity  in  America  than  in 
the  island  of  Great  Britain,  taking  those  authors  as  a 
standard,  who  wrote  during  that  period  which  has  gene- 
rally been  accounted  the  Augustan  age  of  England.  Does 
it  not  therefore  discover  a  kind  of  literary  servility  in  us 
to  receive  without  hesitation  every  word  which  may  have 
been  adopted  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  while  we 
use  with   reluctance  any  term  which   has   originated 


148  THE    SAVAGE. 

among  ourselves?  and,  by  the  indiscriminate  reception, 
we  give  to  these  foreign  terms,  do  we  imt  contribute 
more  to  the  corruption  of  our  speech,  than  we  would  do 
by  the  adoption  of  so  many  indigenous  appellations? 

But  it  is  not  only  by  the  admission  of  lately  adopted 
English  words,  but  also  by  our  readiness  to  receive  Eng- 
lish modes  of  pronunciation,  that  we  hasten  those  corrupt 
changes  which  sooner  or  later  take  place  in  every  lan- 
guage. In  numerous  instances  is  the  pronunciation  of  the 
American  people  more  correct  and  analogical  than  the 
fashionable  pronunciation  in  England.  We  have  pre- 
served the  original  orthoepy  which  has  been  lost  by  the 
inhabitants  of  Great  Britain.  Must  we  therefore  discard 
our  own  sounds, and  adopt  others  less  analogical,  merely 
because  they  may  be  found  in  a  pronouncing  dictionary? 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  several  causes  concur 
to  prevent  any  thing  like  purity  of  language  or  unifor- 
mity of  pronunciation  in  the  United  States:  the  contin- 
ual influx  of  foreigners,  (who  pervade  the  interior  of  the 
country,  and  whose  several  dialects  when  melted  into 
the  speech  of  the  original  settlers  form  a  curious  and 
laughable  amalgamation)  has  a  tendency  to  unsettle  the 
language  of  the  uneducated  inhabitants.  1  have  some- 
times supposed  myself  to  be  engaged  in  discourse  with  a 
native  of  the  north  of  Ireland,  when  immediately  after 
he  made  use  of  certain  expressions,  which  led  me  to  be- 
lieve that  he  wasaGerman:  upon  inquiry,  1  learned  that 
he  was  a  Pennsylvanian  by  birth.  The  emigrants  from 
various  counties  of  England,  the  Welsh,  the  Scotch,  the 
Irish,  the  Germans,  the  French,  when  they  take  up  their 
residence  among  us  and  become  connected  by  marria- 
ges, and  otherwise,  with  the  original  inhabitants,  influ- 
ence in  a  small  degree  the  language  of  the  country;  but 
the  effects  of  these  connexions,  as  population  increases, 
become  less  and  less  perceptible,  and  will  before  long 
cease  to  exist.  But  the  greatest  enemy  to  puiity  of  lan- 
guage in  the  United  States  is  the  prevalence  of,  what 
literary  men  in  England  have  termcd,the  London  dialect: 
this  flourishes  in  our  cities,  and   even  in  many  parts  of 


THE    SAVAGE.  149 

the  interior.  Since  the  English  have  taken  up  the  idea 
of  establishing  a  uniform  system  of  pronunciation,  they 
have  added  one  pronouncing  dictionary  to  another  till 
they  have  involved  the  matter  in  obscurity  and  doubt,  ten 
times  more  perplexing  than  ever  it  was  before.  And 
our  ignorant  wordmongers  in  the  United  States,  having 
selected  their  respective  favorites  among  the  English 
orthoepists,  and  combined  these  transatlantic  materials 
with  their  provincial  peculiarities,  framed  their  pro- 
nouncing spelling  books;  which  they  have  sent  forth  to 
regulate  the  pronunciation  of  the  American  youth. 

It  is  easy  to  point  out  evils;  but  to  find  suitable  reme- 
dies is  a  matter  of  the  greatest  difficulty.  I  shall  touch  on 
this  subject  some  other  time;  at  present  I  must  conclude 
when  I  have  made  one  additional  observation. 

Great  things  have  owed  their  existence  to  the  talents 
and  enterprise  of  private  persons;  but  in  a  country  like 
this  where  there  are  no  national  manners, national  pride, 
or  national  character;  where  the  sordid  love  of  gain  en- 
grosses all  +he  powers  of  the  soul;  where  affectation  of 
foreign  manners,  foreign  literature,  and  foreign  follies 
universally  prevails; — in  such  acountry  the  exertions  of 
an  individual  will  avail  but  little.  Did  Congress  possess 
the  will  and  the  power  to  institute  public  schools  through- 
out the  whole  extent  of  the  United  States,  erect  colleges 
in  every  state,  and  estalish  a  great  federal  university  at 
the  city  of  Washington;  would  our  legislators  unite  their 
talents  to  devise  a  liberal^  enlightened  and  grand  system 
of  national  education  ;  then,  not  only  would  our  literature 
flourish,  but  the  political  consequences  would  be  of 
infinite  importance.  Would  it  cost  too  much?  There  was 
a  Greek  proverb,  which  signified  that  "nothing  but  the 
love  of  gold  could  conquer  Sparta." 


ACADEMY    OF   WIT. 

Mr.  Waggish  has  the  honor  to  inform  the  bucks  and 
boys  of  sport  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia  that  he  has 
opened  an  academy  in  Monkey  hall  for  the  instruction 

N2 


150  THE    SAVAGE. 

of  a  select  and  limited  number  of  young  gentlemen  in 
the  indispensable  and  polite  accomplishment  of  wit. 

Mr.  VV.  has  long  observed  and  deplored  the  scarcity 
of  wit  in  this  western  hemisphere,  and  has  at  last  been 
happy  enough  to  hit  upon  an  expedient  to  supply  the 
deficiency. 

That  quickness  of  genius  which  displays  itself  in 
flashes  of  intellectual  fire — brilliant  repartees,ingenious 
allusions,  uncommon  distinctions,  and  odd  assimilations, 
is  the  gilt  of  nature:  not  one  in  a  thousand  can  hope  to 
possess  it;  but  Mr.  W.  from  his  long  residence  in  the 
capitals  of  England  and  France,  and  his  extensive  ac- 
quaintance with  the  gay  quizzical  and  waggish  spirits  of 
Europe,  has  been  enabled  to  arrange  and  bring  to  per- 
fection a  system  of  mechanical  zvit,  which  will  be  found 
to  answer  all  the  purposes  of  the  genuine  article.  It 
provokes  as  much  laughter,  and  excites  more  merriment 
and/un,  than  the  wit  of  mothernaturc'sown  production. 

Mr.  W.  has  observed  with  pleasure  the  liberal  spirit 
displayed  by  the  citizens  of  Philadelphia  in  the  encou- 
ragement they  continue  to  show  to  ingenious  foreigners 
of  every  description,  who  are  busily  employed  in  trans- 
planting the  polite  arts,  delectable  fashions,  enchanting 
manners  and  enlightened  morals  of  civilized  Europe  to  this 
new,  but  rapidly  improving,  world;  andhehopes,by  the 
most  unwearied  assiduity  in  the  service  of  his  employers, 
and  unremitted  exertions  in  the  promotion  of  wit  and 
hilarity  to  merit  a  share  of  the  public  patronage. 

Mr.  W.  begs  leave  to  inform  the  lovers  of  fun  that 
nothing  shall  be  neglected  at  his  academy  that  has  a  ten- 
dency to  provoke  laughter.  He  will  teach  how  to  per- 
form, in  the  most  fashionable  manner,  every  species   of 

Quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods  and  becks  and  grins  and  smiles. 

He  will  teach  how  to  distort  every  part  of  the  body  in  the 
most  genteel  style:  such  as  rolling  the  eyes,  twisting  the 
mouth,  projecting  the  chin,  smacking  the  lips,  shooting 
out  the  tongue,  distending  the  cheeks,  shrugging  up  the 
shoulders,  protruding  the  belly,  kicking  up  the  heels,  and 


THE     SAVAGE.  151 

rolling  on  the  floor;  togetherwith  every  kind  of  winking, 
blinking,  frisking,  gaping,  wriggling,  yelling, whooping, 
squatting,  squeaking,  squealing,  squalling,  screaming, 
screeching,  hissing,  groaning,  grunting,  bawling,  bark- 
ing, braying,  baaing,  bellowing,  growling,snoring, snort- 
ing, caterwauling, — and  various  other  performances 
and  evolutions  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  enumerate. 

Mr.  W.  announces,  with  the  greatest  satisfaction, that 
he  has  made  every  necessary  preparation  to  teach  the 
genuine  art  of  quizzing  as  now  practised  by  the  highfly- 
ing bloods  of  Europe.  Any  thing  of  a  brisk  young  gentle- 
man may,  after  having  taken  three  or  four  lessons,  ven- 
ture to  quiz  the  old  woman  who  sells  apples  and  cakes 
at  the  corner;  in  six  weeks  he  may  practice  upon  his 
mother,  sister,  maiden  aunt,  or  grandmother;  in  the 
course  of  a  quarter,  he  may  attack  his  father,  the  school- 
master or  parson;  and  if  he  should  continue  to  attend 
these  instructions  for  six  months,  he  will  be  entitled  to 
the  degree  of  Master  Quizzer  from  the  Academy  of  Wit. 

Mr.  W.  is  supremely  happy  to  have  it  in  his  power  to 
inform  the  children  of  Comus  that  he  has  constructed  a 
scale  for  laughing  from  the  lowest  maiden  simper,  to  the 
sidebursting  horse  laugh ;  to  which  he  has  appended  excry 
necessary  instruction  for  those  who  wish  to  learn  scien- 
tifically the  art  of  cachinnation. 

Mr.  W.  will  have  stated  days  of  exhibition,  when  the 
parents  and  guardians  of  his  pupils  will  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  attending  to  witness  the  proficiency  of  the 
young  gentlemen  in  these  charming  accomplishments. 
At  which  lime  Mr.  W.  will  go  through  all  his  contor- 
tions and  grimaces  for  the  amusement  of  his  patrons. 
Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  entertainment,  he  and  his 
pupils  will  unite  in  a  simultaneous  exertion  of  their  pow- 
ers, which  will  undoubtedly  afford  a  sublime  enjoyment 
to  a  judicious  audience. 

Mr.  W.  has  the  honor  to  inform  the  public,  that  he 
has  considered  this  subject  philosophically,  and  is  firmly 
of  opinion  that  this  mechanical  or  artificial  wit  is  in  no 
respect  inferior  to  the  verbal  or  written  productions  of 


152  THE    SAVAGE. 

genius.  If  original  wit,  as  some  authors  contend,  consist 
in  striking  contrasts,  ingenious  distinctions,  and  odd  asso- 
ciations, he  will  venture  to  assert,  without  fear  of  contra- 
diction, that  mechanical  wit,  as  taught  in  Monkey  hall, 
possesses  these  advantages  in  a  degree  infinitely  superior 
to  any  other  species  that  ever  existed.  Was  it  not  said 
by  an  ancient  philosopher  that  if  virtue  could  he  render- 
ed visible,  all  men  would  adore  her?  This  Mr.  W.  has 
done  for  wit:  he  has  given  her  a  substantial  form,  and 
exposed  her  to  the  admiring  world  in  all  her  native  love- 
liness. What  can  present  more  striking  contrasts  than 
smiles  and  frowns,  laughing  and  groaning,  screams  of 
distress,and  shouts  of  triumph?  What  can  produce  a  finer 
effect  than  the  mewling  of  a  cat  and  the  roaring  of  a  lion? 
What  can  be  more  sublime  and  terrific  than  the  various 
and  discordant  yells  of  men  and  animals,  accompanied 
by  the  most  tremendous  distortions  of  the  visage  and 
every  part  of  the  body?  What  strange  associations  will 
be  produced  by  the  judicious  use  of  all  these  means! 
what  discord  and  harmony!  what  sublime  entertainment! 
As  to  the  emphatical  and  ingenious  replies,  produced  by 
this  species  of  wit,  nothing  can  exceed  them:  suppose, 
for  example,  that  A.  should  attack  B.  with  a  threaten- 
ing look  and  furious  gesticulations,and  B.  should  respond 
by  a  gradisonous  explosion  a  posteriori;  could  there  be  a 
repartee  more  brilliant  and  impressive? 

Mr.  W.  presumes  it  is  unnecessary  for  him  to  dwell 
on  the  indispensable  necessity  of  the  divine  art  of  quiz- 
zing to  every  one  who  wishes  to  support  the  character 
of  an  accomplished  gentleman.  Quizzing  has  almost  to- 
tally superseded  every  other  species  of  wit,  in  the  po- 
lished nations  of  Europe,  and  will  ere  long  do  the  same 
in  America.  The  bucks  of  Philadelphia,  who  wish  to 
qualify  themselves  for  genteel  company,  will  no  doubt 
hasten  to  become  acquainted  with  Mr.  W's  newly  im- 
ported system  of  boring,  smoking,  hoaxing  and  quizzing. 

Mr.  W.  has  with  great  mental  labor  and  difficulty 
devised  a  mode  for  rendering  artificial  wit  highly  useful 
to  authors  and  publishers  of  periodical  works.  He  intends 


THE    SAVAGE.  153 

to  apply  immediately  to  the  government  of  the  United 
States  lor  a  patent  to  secure,  to  the  inventor,  the  profits 
arising  from  this  valuable  discovery.  Nothing  of  equal 
importance  to  literary  men  has  come  to  light  since  the 
invention  of  printing.  He  has  promised  to  communicate 
this  wonderful  secret  to  Piomingo,  headman  and  war- 
rior of  the  Muscogulgee  nation,  as  a  recompense  for  his 
politeness  in  giving  this  advertisement  a  place  in  The 
Savage.  When  Piomingo  shall  become  possessed  of  this 
art,  certain  sjns  of  glee  will  no  longer  have  reason  to 
complain  of  the  dulncss  and  insipidity  of  The  Savage: 
they  will  meet  with  wit  of  their  own  kind,  and  quite 
on  a  level  with  their  understandings, 

Mr.  W.  will  give  private  lessons  to  such  grown  gen- 
tlemen as  have  unfortunately  not  had  the  opportunity  of 
acquiring  these  genteel  accomplishments  in  their  youth. 

Air.  W,  would  gladly  employ  a  few  ingenious  assist- 
ants to  enable  him  to  perform  with  ease  the  duties  of 
the  academy.  Any  gentleman  who  is  fortunate  enough 
to  have  an  enormously  large  nose,  an  extremely  wide 
mouth,  or  wall  eyes,  will  be  an  inestimable  acquisition  to 
the  institution, and  will  meet  with  the  most  liberal  reward. 

Although  it  is  the  intention  of  Mr,  W.  that  his  pupils 
shall  exercise  their  talents  on  each  other,  yet  he  has 
thought  it  proper  to  furnish  himself  with  two  or  three 
decrepid  old  men, several  lame  and  deformed  women 
and  children,  three  or  four  idiots,  as  many  habitual 
drunkards,  and  half  a  dozen  maniacs,  who  may  answer 
the  purpose  of  huts,  on  which  the  young  gentlemen  may 
exercise  their  quizzical  talents.  This  arrangement  is 
not  absolutely  necessary,  yet  it  answers  one  valuable 
purpose:  it  will  serve  to  destroy  those  foolish  feelings  of 
humanity,  which  will  frequently  intrude  into  the  minds 
of  youth,  and  have  been  known  to  render  useless  the 
most  promising  quizzical  abilities. 

Medals  and  other  honorary  marks  of  distinction  will 
be  awarded  such  young  gentlemen  as  bring  suflicient 
proof  that  they  have  performed  any  notable  net  of  quiz* 
zing  in  the  city  or  the  adjacent  country. 


154  THE    SAVAGE. 

For  terms  of  tuition  and  other  particulars  apply  at 
the  academy  in  Monkey  hall,  or  at  Mr.  W's.  lodgings 
No.  99  Apes'  alley. 

TRAVELS. 

There  are  no  books  more  entertaining  than  well 
written  travels.  They  charm  us  with  the  variety  of  in- 
cidents they  exhibit  to  our  view,  and  keep  alive  our  cu- 
riosity by  the  hopes  they  continually  excite  of  more  in- 
teresting particulars. 

Wherever  a  traveller  directs  his  way,  whether  among 
the  savages  of  America,  the  sable  hords  of  Africa,  the 
slaves  of  Asia,  or  the  civilized  barbarians  of  Europe,  he 
may,  by  a  judicious  selection  of  incidents,  and  pertinent 
observations,  render  the  narrative  of  his  journey  amus- 
ing and  instructive.  But  he  ought  to  remember  that 
nothing  but  wan  can  be  highly  interesting  to  wan;  and, 
however  he  may  indulge  himself  occasionally  in  descrip- 
tions of  inanimate  nature,  a  frequent  recurrence  of 
pictures  in  which  no  human  being  is  exhibited  will  sa- 
tiate and  disgust  the  reader. 

It  may  be  observed  that  the  travels  of  a  man  of  gen- 
eral literature  are  always  more  amusing  than  those  of 
one  whose  studies  have  been  principally  directed  to 
some  particular  branch  of  science. 

A  man  who  imagines  that  he  possesses  a  talent  for 
giving  his  reader  sketches  of  scenery,  will  be  forever  di- 
recting your  attention  to  the  misty  azure  of  the  moun- 
tain, the  naked  rocks,  and  the  jutting  promontory.  He 
will  continually  present  to  your  view  the  woody  valley, 
the  winding  stream,  and  the  far  extended  plain.  Now 
it  is  to  be  remembered  that  all  descriptions  of  scenery  are 
extremely  vague,  and  rarely  present  to  the  mind  any 
definite  idea.  When  we  have  heard  of  one  mountain, 
one  valley,  and  one  plain,  we  are  satisfied.  They  awa- 
ken in  our  minds  the  ideas  of  those  mountains,  valleys 
and  plains  which  we  ourselves  have  seen;  and  the  re- 
membrance is  pleasing.  But  if  these  images  continue 
to  be  crowded  on  the  mind  without  ceasing,  we  strive 


THE    SAVAGE.  155 

in  vain  to  distinguish  one  from  the  other,  and  finding 
ourselves  incapable  of  forming  any  distinct  ideas,  we 
grow  weary  of  the  book  and  enraged  at  the  author. 

A  connoisseur  in  the  art  of  painting  or  statuary  is  ne- 
ver happy  but  among  busts  or  pictures.  He  has  no  taste 
for  any  thing  but  canvass  or  marble.  Every  species  of 
flesh  and  blood  appears  altogether  unworthy  of  his  at- 
tention. While  he  is  examining  the  respective  merits 
of  the  Flemish  and  Italian  schools,  expatiating  on  the 
distinguishing  excellencies  of  Rembrandt  or  Raphael, 
enraptured  at  the  sight  of  the  Medicean  Venus,  writhing 
in  agony  with  the  wretched  Laocoon,  or  expiring  with 
the  dying  gladiator,  every  common  occurrence  of  life  is 
disregarded.  His  reveries  may  be  pleasing  to  himself, 
and  his  longwinded  descriptions  may  gratify  the  cognos- 
ced few;  but,  for  our  own  part,  we  had  rather  "ply  the 
Laboring  oar"  than  follow  one  of  these  fellows  into  a 
pantheon  of  marble  gods  or  a  gallery  of  pictures. 

The  general  reader  will  find  but  little  entertainment 
in  the  travels  of  a  botanist.  While  we  are  anxious  to 
form  some  idea  of  the  country  to  which  the  traveller  has 
carried  us,  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the 
soil  and  climate,  and  to  hear  of  the  manners,  customs, 
language,  laws,  and  religion  of  the  natives,  the  itiner- 
ant is  in  raptures  at  the  discovery  of  a  new  species  of 
convolvulus;  and  were  heaven  and  earth  to  be  shaken, he 
will  not  be  disturbed  until  this  plant  shall  be  technical- 
ly described  in  pure  Linnean  Latin,  and  have  received 
its  distinctive  appellation,  grombrobstschmuckiana  from 
the  learned  author's  much  honored  friend,  Dr.  Grom- 
brobstschmuck,  professor  of  botany  in  the  university  of 
Grogenhogen.  After  we  have  attended  patiently  to 
the  class,  genus,  and  species,  of  this  new  discovery,  we 
are  in  hopes  of  some  information  that  may  prove  more 
interesting;  and  sometimes  we  are  not  altogether  disap- 
pointed, but  we  are  in  continual  danger  of  having  our 
entertainment  interrupted  by  the  shape  of  a  leaf,  or  the 
flowering  of  a  shrub. 

Naturalists,  who  have  become  habitually  attentire 


156  THE    SAVAGE. 

to  the  minule  wonders  of  creation,  are  insufferably  tire- 
gome  when  they  find  a  variety  ofwoodlice,  caterpillars, 
or  grasshoppers:  man  and  his  operations  must  remain 
unnoticed  while  theiraftention  is  engrossed  by  the  pro- 
boscis of  an  insect. 

There  are  other  travellers  who  arc  much  too  fortu- 
nate in  finding  curious  shells,  beautiful  pieces  of  spar, 
and  elegant  specimens  of  rock  crystal.  They  examine 
minutely  into  the  different  layers  of  clay,  gravel,  and 
loam,  of  which  any  eminence  is  composed;  and  when 
they  meet  with  pyrites  or  rocks  of  granite,  they  are  ra- 
ther too  tedious  in  their  disquisitions. 

We  must  however  acknowledge  that  the  travels  of 
these  gentlemen  may  be  extremely  useful;  and  are  of- 
ten amusing.  Wc  would  only  remark,  that,  if  they  do 
not  travel  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  discove- 
ries in  their  own  favorite  science,  too  great  a  share  of 
their  attention  is  devoted  to  things  which  are  not  in- 
teresting to  the  generality  of  readers.  They  seem  to 
forget  that  all  men  arc  not  exclusively  fond  of  botany, 
mineralogy,  or  the  Utile  wonders  of  nature. 

But  most  of  our  late  travellers  are  of  a  different  kind 
from  any  are  have  yet  described*  They  forsake  their  plea- 
sant firesides  and  other  domestic  comforts,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  having  a  peep  at  the  world.  The  privations  to 
which  they  must  submit,  and  the  difficulties  they  en- 
counter, make  so  strong  an  impression  on  their  minds, 
that  we  hear  of  nothing  but  the  badness  of  the  roads, 
the  inconvenience  of  their  vehicles,  and  the  wretched 
accommodation  at  the  inns.  Their  minds  are  generally 
so  contracted  by  the  narrowness  of  the  sphere  in  which 
they  have  hitherto  moved,  that  every  thing  appears  to  be 
wrong  which  is  not  conducted  precisely  in  the  manner 
they  have  seen  it  conducted  in  their  native  town  or  vil- 
lage. Tlieymakenoallowancefortheoperationofcauses 
with  which  they  have  had  no  opportunity  of  becoming 
acquainted;  and  they  condemn  the  necessary  result  of 
circumstances  as  a  departure  from  the  order  of  nature. 

They  always  keep  an  account  of  their  expenditures^ 


THE    SAVAGE.  157 

and  make  the  most  pitiful  complaints  of  the  extortions 
practised  by  drivers,  guides,  ferrymen,  and  the  keepers 
of  turnpike  gates.  They  arrive  wet,  weary,  hungry 
and  cold,  at  a  house  of  entertainment;  but  here,  alas! 
unfolds  a  fresh  scene  of  distress.  There  is  no  tire  to  be 
found;  the  apartments  are  damp  and  disagreeable;  the 
servants  are  lazy  and  inattentive.  "How  different  all 
these," ejaculates  the  miserable  traveller,  "from  the  com- 
forts and  conveniences  to  be  found  at  an  English  inn!" 
When  dinner  appears,  he  hesitates  some  time  whether 
to  die  of  hunger,  or  to  saliate  its  cravings  with  the 
wretched  preparation  before  him;  but,  as  necessity  has 
no  law,  he  ventures,  at  last, to  come  in  contact  with  ma- 
terials so  disgusting  to  his  senses,  and  abhorrent  to  hia 
feelings.  lie  expatiates  largely  on  the  poorness  of  the 
bread,  and  pours  forth  the  most  piteous  lamentations 
concerning  the  toughness  of  a  goose! 

A  late  celebrated  traveller  mourns  over  his  fate  in  the 
following  manner.  When  he  desired  to  be  shown  a 
place  of  repose,  he  was  conducted  to  a  chamber  that  re- 
sembled a  dungeon.  He  lay  down  on  a  hard  and  disa- 
greeable bed  in  hopes  of  procuring  a  temporary  rest; 
but,  the  rushing  of  rats  behind  the  wainscot,  the  obstre- 
perous courtship  of  cats  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  the 
ceaseless  crowing  of  a  banty  cockin  a  neighboring  build- 
ing, and  the  furious  attack  of  a  troop  of  hungry  fleas, 
frighted  away  the  drowsy  god  from  the  eyelids  of  the 
weary  guest. 

Such  particulars  would  hardly  be  tolerated  in  a  pri- 
vate letter  to  a  friend;  but  become  insufferable  when 
they  occupy  the  greater  part  of  a  book  designed  for  the 
instruction  and  amusement  of  the  public.  Travellers 
6hould  remember  that  it  is  not  from  any  interest  we 
take  in  their  personal  concerns,  that  we  are  disposed  to 
accompany  them  through  the  history  of  their  peregrina- 
tions; but  from  a  desire  of  being  made  partakers  of  the 
amusements  and  pleasures  of  the  journey. 

When  a  traveller  pervades  any  region  at  an  immense 
distance  from  the  place  of  his  birth — where  none  of  his 
O 


158  THE    SAVAGE. 

countrymen  have  ever  been,  and  where  it  is  not  reason- 
able to  suppose  any  of  them  ever  will  be — there  is 
great  danger  of  his  meeting  with  pigmies,  giants,  and 
salamanders. 


FROM  CRITO. 

I  feel  inclined  at  present,  Piomingo,  to  offer  a  short 
apology  for  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  using  the  verb 
progress,  in  their  writings  or  their  conversation. 

It  is  not  synonymous  with  the  verb  proceed;  it  signi- 
fies to  proceed  with  some  business,  or  to  advance  regu- 
larly a  set  of  operations. 

It  (ills  up  one  of  those  niches  in  language  which  Mr. 
Walker  says  should  never  be  empty.  The  same  argu- 
ments may  certainly  be  adduced  in  its  favor,  that  the 
author  just  mentioned  brings  forward  in  support  of 
others  in  the  like  situation. 

"I  have  not  found,"  says  Mr.  Walker  under  the  word 
panegyrize,  "I  have  not  found  this  word  in  any  of  our 
dictionaries,  but  have  met  with  it  in  so  respectable  a 
writer,  that  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  inserting 
it  here,  especially  as  it  serves  to  fill  up  a  niche  in  lan- 
guage, which  I  think  never  should  be  empty:  I  mean, 
that  wherever  there  is  a  noun  established,  there  should 
•always  be  a  verb  to  correspond  to  it."  Again:  under 
the  verb  paralize,  he  observes,  "the  very  general  use  of 
this  word,  especially  since  the  French  revolution,  seems 
to  entitle  it  to  a  place  in  the  dictionaries  of  our  lan- 
guage, as  it  not  only  more  forcibly  expresses  the  com- 
mon idea  than  to  enervate  or  to  deaden,  but  serves  to  fill 
up  those  vacancies  in  speech,  where  there  is  no  verb  to 
correspond  to  a  substantive  or  adjective.  Hence  Pope7s 
happy  coinage  of  the  verb  to  sensualize" 

All  these  considerations  speak  as  much  in  favor  of 
progress  as  of  panegyrize  and  paralize;  but  this  verb  has 
yet  other  and  stronger  arguments  that  may  be  brought 
forward  in  its  defence. 

It  is  found  in  several  English  dictionaries:  and  Dr. 
Ash  gives   Shakspeare   as  his   authority,  "Doth  pro- 


THE    SAVAGE.  159 

gress  on  thy  cheek;"  though  it  may  be  observed  that  he 
places  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable. 

It  is  admitted  that  this  verb  is  not  to  be  found  in 
Johnson's  dictionary;  but  that  offers  no  conclusive  ar- 
gument against  its  antiquity;  since  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged that  several  words  in  common  use  at  that  time 
were  inadvertently  omitted  by  the  greatest  ofphilologists. 


ZENO. 

The  stoics  taught  that  happiness  was  only  to  be  found 
in  the  practice  of  virtue.  They  denied  that  health, 
reputation,  and  riches- were,  properly  speaking,  good; 
and  they  contended  that  poverty,  ignominy,  and  pain 
were  not  evils.  "Virtue  alone,"  said  their  founder,  "is 
sufficient  to  happiness;  and  the  wise  man  may  enjoy  it 
atall  times,  be  his  condition  whatitmay." 

Zeno  is  said  to  have  died  at  the  age  of  ninety-eight 
years,  having  never  experienced  any  sickness  or  indis- 
position whatever.  Had  Zeno  been  the  victim  of  pain, 
reproach  and  poverty,  would  he  have  taught  that  these 
things  were  not  evils? 

PIOMINGO. 

It  has  been  lately  asserted  that  there  is  no  such  man 
as  Piomingo  in  existence.  Shall  we  exhibit  ourself  to 
the  public  on  some  market  day?  Or  what  plan  shall  we 
adopt  to  satisfy  the  world  that  there  is  such  a  savage  in 
existence;  and  that  he  exists  in  Philadelphia? 

If  this  report  continue  to  be  propagated  much  longer, 
we  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  showing  our  savage 
self,  in  our  Indian  dress,  some  Sunday  afternoon  at  the 
Centre  Square;  when  we  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  con- 
vince the  most  incredulous  of  the  actual  existence  of 
the  savage,  Piomingo. 

We  have  told  our  story;  and  we  arc  extremely  sorry 
to  find  that  it  has  not  met  with  universal  credence.  .We 
shall  not  repeat  it;  but  invite  those  who  may  be  desi- 
rous of  refreshing  their  memories,  to   turn  once  more 


160 


THE    SAVAGE. 


to  our  prospectus.  Is  the  tale  improbable?  May  not 
such  things  be?  And  would  not  such  a  one  as  is  there 
described  be  capable  of  comparing  the  manners  and 
customs  of  savages  with  those  of  civilized  nations?  The 
reader  is  at  liberty  to  believe  as  much  as  he  pleases;  but 
it  certainly  requires  no  great  stretch  of  the  imagination 
to  enable  any  one  to  enter  into  the  plan  of  our  work. 


CARDS. 

Is  it  not  a  little  surprising  that  these  painted  papers 
should  possess  such  charms  as  to  be  able  to  captivate  all 
hearts  in  civilized  society?  Is  there  some  magical  influ- 
ence resident  in  the  paper  or  coloring  which  is  elicited 
by  the  dexterous  motions  of  the  players?  Or  are  we  to 
attribute  the  power  which  they  possess  over  the  minds 
of  men  to  some  extraneous  cause  connected  with  their 
movements? 

Being  lately  in  a  house  where  several  parties  were  en- 
gaged at  cards  we  observed  among  the  rest  an  old  man, 
who,  from  his  appearance,  must  be  advancing  rapidly  to 
the  end  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage.  Although  his  hand 
trembled,  we  could  not  but  take  notice  that  he  handled 
the  instruments  of  his  amusement  with  uncommon  ease 
and  dexterity.  He  generally  appeared  solicitously  atten- 
tive to  the  operations  in  hand  until  he  brought  some  fa- 
vorite projectto  bear,  when  he  would  give  for  a  few  mo- 
ments free  way  to  his  emotions  of  exultation  and  joy. 
When  he  had  enjoyed  his  triumph,  he  always  appeared 
eager  to  engage  in  a  new  contest,  and  again  displayed 
the  same  restless  anxiety  for  the  victory  that  he  had  done 
before.  There  was  always  a  small  stake  depending  on 
the  issue  of  the  game,  which  he  frequently  eyed  with 
solicitude,  and,  if  successful  in  play,  appropriated  to 
himself  with  every  appearance  of  gladness  and  triumph. 
If  he  failed  in  the  contest,  we  could  always  discover  an 
air  of  dissatisfaction  in  his  countenance  which  he  en- 
deavored vainly  toconceal;  but  he  continually  attributed 
the  cause  of  his  failure  to  something  totally  independ- 
ent of  himself — the  ungenerous  play  of  his  antagonist 


THE    SAVAGE.  161 

or  the  unskilfulncss  of  his  partner.  The  pleasure  of  vic- 
tory did  not  appear  to  result  wholly  from  the  pecuniary 
acquisition  he  had  made  5  but  to  proceed  also  from  the 
display  of  his  own  superiority  and  the  discomfiture  of 
his  opponent. 

After  the  most  of  the  players,  weary  of  the  diversion, 
had  departed,  the  old  man  still  continued  at  the  table, 
holding  the  cards  in  his  hand,  as  if  anxious  for  a  fresh 
encounter.  We  approached  the  veteran  gamester,  and 
endeavored  to  enter  into  conversation;  but  the  only  re- 
ply he  made  to  our  observations  was  to  demand  whether 
or  not  we  were  disposed  to  take  a  handixt  cards.  We  as- 
sented; but  as  our  unskilfulncss  at  the  game  afforded 
him  an  easy  victory,  he  soon  became  dissatisfied,  and 
signified  his  inclination  to  discontinue  the  amusement. 
We  readily  acceded:  and  from  (his  circumstance  we 
drew  the  conclusion,  that  a  great  part  of  his  enjoyment 
proceeded  from  a  successful  exertion  of  his  powers;  and 
that  the  more  arduous  the  struggle,  the  greater  the  gra- 
tification resulting  from  the  conquest. 

We  inquired  of  the  old  gentleman  if  he  derived  much 
entertainment  from  cards.  "No,'1  said  he,  ^not  much: 
they  serve  to  kill  time."  "You  are  not  then,"  we  replied, 
"solicitous  for  the  issue  of  the  game  on  account  of  the 
money  that  is  deposited?"  "Damn  the  money !"  said  he, 
in  a  passion,  "I  care  not  for  the  trash:  I  play  for  amuse- 
ment." "Why  then,"  we  ventured  to  inquire,  "should 
there  be  any  stake  at  all,  since  it  is  an  object  beneath 
your  attention?"  "Because,"  said  he,  with  a  supercil- 
ious smile,  "there  must  be  something  betted  to  render 
the  game  interesting."  Here,  as  if  ashamed  of  holding 
a  conversation  with  a  person  so  ignorant  of  life  as  we 
appeared  to  be,  he  turned  round  to  one  who  had  just 
entered,  and  began  a  new  game,  to  kill  time — to  win 
money — to  exercise  his  powers — and  to  triumph  over  his 
adversary. 

This  occurrence  led  us  to  reflect  that  when  wearrive 
even  at  the  verge  of  life,  time  will  still  hang  heavy  on 
our  hands,  since  we  are  reduced  to  such  miserable  exoe- 
02 


160 


THE    SAVAGE. 


to  our  prospectus.  Is  the  tale  improbable?  May  not 
such  things  be?  And  would  not  such  a  one  as  is  there 
described  be  capable  of  comparing  the  manners  and 
customs  of  savages  with  those  of  civilized  nations?  The 
reader  is  at  liberty  to  believe  as  much  as  he  pleases;  but 
it  certainly  requires  no  great  stretch  of  the  imagination 
to  enable  any  one  to  enter  into  the  plan  of  our  work. 


CARDS. 

Is  it  not  a  little  surprising  that  these  painted  papers 
should  possess  such  charms  as  to  be  able  to  captivate  all 
hearts  in  civilized  society?  Is  there  some  magical  influ- 
ence resident  in  the  paper  or  coloring  which  is  elicited 
by  the  dexterous  motions  of  the  players?  Or  are  we  to 
attribute  the  power  which  they  possess  over  the  minds 
of  men  to  some  extraneous  cause  connected  with  their 
movements? 

Being  lately  in  a  house  where  several  parties  were  en- 
gaged at  cards  we  observed  among  the  rest  an  old  man, 
who,  from  his  appearance,  must  be  advancing  rapidly  to 
the  end  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage.  Although  his  hand 
trembled,  we  could  not  but  take  notice  that  he  handled 
the  instruments  of  his  amusement  with  uncommon  ease 
and  dexterity.  He  generally  appeared  solicitously  atten- 
tive to  the  operations  in  hand  until  he  brought  some  fa- 
vorite project  to  bear,  when  he  would  give  for  a  few  mo- 
ments free  way  to  his  emotions  of  exultation  and  jo\r. 
When  he  had  enjoyed  his  triumph,  he  always  appeared 
eager  to  engage  in  a  new  contest,  and  again  displayed 
the  same  restless  anxiety  for  the  victory  that  he  had  done 
before.  There  was  always  a  small  stake  depending  on 
the  issue  of  the  game,  which  he  frequently  eyed  with 
solicitude,  and,  if  successful  in  play,  appropriated  to 
himself  with  every  appearance  of  gladness  and  triumph. 
If  he  failed  in  the  contest,  we  could  always  discover  an 
air  of  dissatisfaction  in  his  countenance  which  he  en- 
deavored vainly  toconceal;  but  he  continually  attributed 
the  cause  of  his  failure  to  something  totally  independ- 
ent of  himself — the  ungenerous  play  of  his  antagonist 


THE    SAVAGE.  161 

or  the  unskilfulncss  of  his  partner.  The  pleasure  of  vic- 
tory did  not  appear  to  result  wholly  from  the  pecuniary 
acquisition  he  had  made;  but  to  proceed  also  from  the 
display  of  his  own  superiority  and  the  discomfiture  of 
his  opponent. 

After  the  most  of  the  players,  weary  of  the  diversion, 
had  departed,  the  old  man  still  continued  at  the  table, 
holding  the  cards  in  his  hand,  as  if  anxious  for  a  fresh 
encounter.  We  approached  the  veteran  gamester,  and 
endeavored  to  enter  into  conversation;  but  the  only  re- 
ply he  made  to  our  observations  was  to  demand  whether 
or  not  we  were  disposed  to  take  a  handnt  cards.  We  as- 
sented; but  as  our  unskilfulncss  at  the  game  afforded 
him  an  easy  victory,  he  soon  became  dissatisfied,  and 
signified  his  inclination  to  discontinue  the  amusement. 
We  readily  acceded:  and  from  (his  circumstance  we 
drew  the  conclusion,  that  a  great  part  of  his  enjoyment 
proceeded  from  a  successful  exertion  of  his  powers;  and 
that  (he  more  arduous  the  struggle-,  the  greater  the  gra- 
tification resulting  from  the  conquest* 

We  inquired  of  the  old  gentleman  if  he  derived  much 
entertainment  from  cards.  "No,'1  said  he,  ^not  much: 
they  serve  to  kill  time."  "You  are  not  then,"  we  replied, 
"solicitous  for  the  issue  of  the  game  on  account  of  the 
money  that  is  deposited?"  "Damn  the  money !"  said  he, 
in  a  passion,  "I  care  not  for  the  trash:  I  play  for  amuse- 
ment." "Why  then,"  we  ventured  to  inquire,  "should 
there  be  any  stake  at  all,  since  it  is  an  object  beneath 
your  attention?"  "Because,"  said  he,  with  a  supercil- 
ious smile,  "there  must  be  something  betted  to  render 
the  game  interesting."  Here,  as  if  ashamed  of  holding 
a  conversation  with  a  person  so  ignorant  of  life  as  we 
appeared  to  be,  he  turned  round  to  one  who  had  just 
entered,  and  began  a  new  game,  to  kill  time — to  win 
money — to  exercise  his  powers — and  to  triumph  over  his 
adversary. 

This  occurrence  led  us  to  reflect  that  when  wearrive 
even  at  the  verge  of  life,  time  will  still  hang  heavy  on 
our  hands,  since  we  are  reduced  to  such  miserable  exoe- 
02 


162  THE    SAVAGE. 

dients  to  while  away  the  lingering  hours,  and  shut  out 
obtrusive  thoughts.  We  were  also  led  to  draw  the  conclu- 
sion, that,  whatever  inclination  men  may  discover  for 
play,  there  is  nothing  will  make  the  game  interesting, 
but  the  avaricious  hope  of  accumulating  money:  avarice 
is  the  ruling  passion  of  civilized  man. 

While  we  were  occupied  with  these  thoughts,  afresh 
multitude  had  entered  the  house.  There  was  much  bus- 
tle and  preparation.  The  tables  were  filled  with  players. 
On  one  side  was  a  company  engaged  at  loo;  on  the  other 
was  a  party  at  whist.  These  played  cribbage;  and  these 
eucrc;  and  here  a  set  of  noisy  lads  were  engaged  at  their 
favorite  all/ours.  At  first,  universal  anxiety  pervaded  the 
assembly;  and  the  most  strenuous  exertions  for  victory 
were  employed  by  the  parties.  But  as  all  could  not 
conquer,  suddenly  our  ears  were  saluted  with  shouts  of 
exultation  from  some,  and  curses  of  disappointment  from 
others.  We  went  from  one  table  to  the  other,  and  con- 
templated the  various  emotions  that  were  visible  in  the 
countenances  of  the  players.  We  admired  the  ingenui- 
ty discovered  in  the  cutting  of  some,  and"  the  dexterity 
displayed  Jn  the  shuffling  of  others;  but  as  we  had  no 
stake  depending,  as  we  felt  none  of  those  passions  that 
warmed  the  breasts  of  the  combatants,  in  line,  as  their 
pursuits  appeared  to  us  childish  and  contemptible,  we 
began  to  be  weary  of  our  situation.  We  remembered 
that  we  had  no  business  there,  and  made  haste  to  leave 
the  assembly. 

Returning  to  our  lodging  at  a  late  hour,  we  sat  down 
to  ruminate  on  what  we  had  seen.  The  pursuits  of 
life  appeared  to  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  a  party 
at  cards.  There  is  the  same  eager  anxiety  for  the  suc- 
cess of  a  favorite  scheme;  and  the  same  momentary  ex- 
ultation when  the  issue  is  fortunate.  There  is  the  same 
restless  propensity  to  enter  into  a  fresh  contest;  and  the 
same  marks  of  anguish  and  disappointment  when  we 
are  vanquished.  There  is  the  same  ambition  of  dis- 
playing our  powers,  the  same  emulation  and  strife  for 
superiority,  and  the  same  avaricious  inclinations.    And 


THE    SAVAGE.  163 

these  passions,  increasing  with  our  ae:e  and  infirmities, 
appear  to  discover  most  impetuosity  near  the  close  of 
our  days. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  melancholy  observer, 
who  moves  from  one  scene  of  contention  to  another 
without  finding  any  thing  sufficiently  attractive  to  in- 
terest his  passions  or  awaken  his  anxiety?  What  busi- 
'ness  Ulis  he  in  the  world  to  whom  the  world  is  a  desert? 
If  the  pleasures,  pursuits  and  employments  of  men  be- 
come insipid  and  vain,  it  is  time  to  quit  the  stage  and 
give  place  to  others. 

Oppressed  with  these  disconsolate  reflections  we  fell 
asleep  in  our  chair,and  found  ourseli  in  a  green  field  on 
the  hanks  of  the  Ohio.    It  was  a  de  :iing;<he 

winds  were  hushed;  the  sun  was  descending  in  the 
west;  and  the  clouds  were  dyed  with  crimson  and  gold. 
The  flocks  were  about  to  leave  their  pasture;  the  hirds 
were  preparing  to  seek  refuge  in  the  neighboring  trees; 
and  millions  of  insects  were  enjoying  the  last  beams  of 
the  departing  sun.  We  were  carried  from  one  place 
to  another  with  a  light  and  easy  motion,  and  the  tran- 
quillity of  nature  reignedinour  bosom;  hut  our  attention 
was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  appearance  of  a  young 
man  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  His  visage  was  pale, 
and  his  dress  disordered.  He  walked  hastily  up  and 
down  with  an  air  of  distraction.  While  we  regarded 
him  with  mute  astonishment,  he  exclaimed  with  a  loud 
voice,  "It  shall  be  done!"  and  plunged  headlong  into 
the  stream. 

It  seems  as  though  we  were  inclined  to  do  a  good  ac- 
tion in  our  sleep,  for  we  do  not  remember  that  we  felt 
any  prudential  hesitation  at  that  moment.  We  rushed 
into  the  flood  and  bore  him  to  the  shore.  He  lay  some 
time  apparently  lifeless.  The  water  gushed  from  his 
mouth  and  nostrils.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  regarding 
us  with  a  look  of  despair  and  reproach,  he  exclaimed, 
"The  struggle  was  past!  I  had  vanquished  my  adversa- 
ry— and  now  again  I  must  endure  the  fever  of  life ;  again 
I  must  taste  the  bitterness  of  death — you  are  also  my 
enemy !" 


166  THE    SAVAGE. 

should  an  actor, -in  this  part,  endeavor  to  exhibit  the 
awkward  amazement  of  a  clown  who  sees  a  white  horse 
grazing  in  a  country  churchyard? 

The  sentiments,  given  to  Hamlet  by  the  author,  dis- 
cover dignity  of  soul,  resolution  of  mind,  and  contempt 
of  death.  Ought  not  something  of  all  this  to  appear 
in  his  deportment? 

Why,  what  should  be  the  fear? 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee; 

And,  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that? 

Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself. 

It  waves  me  forth  again;— I'll  follow  it. 

Again — 

My  fate  cries  out, 
And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve. 
Still  I  am  call'd; — unhand  me  gentlemen; — 
By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me: 
I  say,  away:— Go  on, — I'll  follow  thee. 

And  he  should  follow  it  with  a  firm  step  and  desperate 
resolution.  What  then?  Shall  the  crowd  be  deprived 
of  a  charming  spectacle?  Shall  we  no  longer  be  enter- 
tained with  that  hopping  sliding  fantastic  movement  with 
which  Hamlet  has  danced  after  the  ghost  for  ages?  The 
play  would  be  ruined  by  such  savage  innovations! 

It  is  probable  this  dramatic  caper  may  be  traced 
back  to  Garrick  or  some  other  hero  of  the  stage;  but 
we  will  give  our  silvcrmounted  tobacco  pipe  to  any  Thes- 
pian critic  who  will  convince  us  of  its  propriety,  or 
show  any  good  reason  for  its  longer  continuance. 

In  our  opinion,  the  character  of  Polonius  was  well 
supported;  but  the  multitude  are  ever  disposed  to  laugh 
when  Mr.  Jefferson  appears,  whether  what  he  may 
have  to  deliver  be  calculated  to  excite  merriment  or 
otherwise. 

Ophelia  was  interesting.  We  were  more  than  satis- 
fied with  the  performance  of  Mrs.  Wilmot;  but  when 
she  approached  her  brother,  saying  "I  would  give  you 
some  violets;  bat  they  withered  all,  when  my  father 
died" — we  forgot  the  theatre,  the  play,  and  every  thing, 
but  the  sorrows  of  Ophelia. 


THE    SAVAGE.  167 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  XII. 
COMMERCE. 

Is  our  last  number  we  took  some  notice  of  the  ef- 
fects of  commerce.  We  showed,  in  our  opinion,  clearly 
that  it  has  a  tendency  to  weaken  local  partialities,  eradi- 
cate salutary  prejudices,  and  render  every  thing  con- 
temptible in  the  eyes  of  men  but  the  acquisition  of 
riches.  We  showed  that  the  generous  feelings  of  pat- 
riotism were  incompatible  with  the  interests  and  pur- 
suits of  a  merchant;  and  that  the  laws,  religion,  and 
manners  of  any  particular  nation  must  lose  all  their  in- 
fluence over  the  mind  of  him  who  no  longer  considers 
his  interest  as  identitied  with  the  welfare  of  that  nation. 
If  therefore  we  value  the  advantages  that  result  from 
local  institutions,  how  'should  we  be  a  friend  to  com- 
merce? 

All  the  world  know  that  nothing  promotes  individual 
wealth  with  such  astonishing  rapidity  as  commerce; 
and  we  have  heretofore  shown  the  consequences  that  in- 
evitably flow  from  the  accumulation  of  riches  in  the 
hands  of  individuals.  If  then  we  feel  desirous  of  seeing 
our  species  virtuous  and  happy,  how  should  we  be  a 
friend  to  commerce? 

In  all  our  lucubrations  we  have  endeavored  to  estab- 
lish, in  the  first  place,  certain  fundamental  principles; 
and  from  these  we  have  deduced  our  arguments.  If  any 
one,  from  a  partial  view  of  the  subject,  shall  condemn 
our  conclusions  without  examining  the  reasonings  on 
which  they  are  founded,  we  cannot  help  it:  the  fault  is 
not  in  us  but  in  himself. 

When  a  proposition  is  established  by  conclusive  ar- 
guments drawn  from  general  principles,  there  seems  to 
be  no  occasion  to  draw  additional  aid  from  adventitious 
considerations.  Whence  arises  the  necessity  of  wooden 
props  to  support  an  edifice  founded  on  a  rock? 

Were  the  case  otherwise,  we  know  of  no  difficulty  in 
finding  collateral  arguments  to  prove  the  pernicious  ef- 
fects of  commerce  upon  the  morals  and  happiness  of  so- 
ciety, and  upon  the  vigor  and  prosperity  of  nations.  We 


168 


THE    SAVAGE. 


might  easily  point  out  the  virtues  and  energies  of  king- 
doms and  republics  while  separated  from  the  world  and 
under  the  influence  of  their  local  institutions,  and  after- 
wards mark  their  profligacy  and  degeneracy  when  com- 
merce had  made  them  acquainted  with  the  luxuries, 
vices,  and  refinements  of  the  world.  There  is  no  period 
of  ancient  or  modern  history  from  which  we  could  not 
bring  examples  to  illustrate  and  confirm  our  opinions. 
If  we  should  be  told  of  the  superstitions  and  crime9 
which  sometimes  darken  and  deform  the  history  of  iso- 
lated nations,  we  might  reply  that  these  are  not  the  ne- 
cessary result  of  their  situation;  but,admitting  the  worst, 
how  much  more  desirable  their  condition  than  that  of 
nations  brutalized  by  the  sorceries  oi  commerce? 

But  if  it  be  said  that  commerce  increases  the  wealth 
and  contributes  to  the  prosperity  of  a  nation,  we  are  at 
liberty  to  enquire  in  what  manner  this  is  effected.  Does 
itincrease  the  number  of  virtuous  and  loyal  citizens  at- 
tached to  their  country  and  devoted  to  its  interests?  Or 
are  we  to  suppose  that  it  enriches  (he  nation  by  increas- 
ing the  wealth  of  a  few  individuals?  Will  the  nation  be 
great  and  happy  because  "merchants  become  princes" 
surrounded  by  crowds  of  menials  and  mercenary  depen- 
dents? Does  the  nation  become  powerful  because  its 
citizens  are  continually  subjected  more  and  more  to  the 
influence  of  men  who  arc  destitute  of  local  attachments? 


Dec,  25,  Morning. 

This  is  Christmas,  Piomingo:  and  I  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  write  this  letter  for  the  express  purpose  of 
letting  you  know  it.  Although  this  is  a  christian  festi- 
val, and  you  reside  at  present  in  a  christian  country, 
yet  if  I  had  not  given  you  this  information,  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  the  day  would  have  passed  over  with- 
out your  having  any  knowledge  of  the  circumstance. 

I  would  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  be  in  the  interior 
of  the  country  at  this  moment,  that  I  might  partake  of 
the  mirth  and  festivity  that  prevail  among  rustic  swains 


THE    SAVAGE.  169 

who  arc  not  yet  too  wise  to  be  happy.  There,  Piomin- 
go,  the  young  and  the  old,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the 
wise  and  the  foolish,  desist  from  their  labors,  banish 
their  cares,  and  give  a  loose  to  the  joys  of  the  season. 

Five  or  six  years  ago,  1  spent  a  winter  much  to  my 
satisfaction  in  the  western  country;  and  was  rejoiced  to 
find  the  good  people  of  those  parts  not  so  forgetful  of 
the  religion  of  their  fathers  as  to  neglect  the  good  old 
festival  of  christmas.  The  old  gray  bearded  patriarchs 
meet  together  to  eat  and  drink  and  laugh  and  boast  of 
the  marvellous  exploits  they  have  performed  in  their 
boyish  days.  The  young  assemble  todance  and  sing  and 
discover  their  prowess  by  feats  of  strength  and  agility. 

But  what  pleased  me  most  was  a  barring-out:  do  you 
know  what  that  is,  Piomingo?  1  shall  be  under  the  ne- 
cessity ofdesrribingit;  for  how  should  a  savage  like  you 
know  any  thing  about  a  barring-out? 

Know  then, O  thou  unidcacd  barbarian!  that  in  the 
interior  parts  of  this  continent  the  young  men  and  boys 
(agreeably  to  a  good  old  custom  transmitted  from  father 
to  son  for  many  generations)  maintain  the  privilege  of 
barring  out  their  schoolmasters  some  days  previous  to 
the  christmas  festival. 

They  repair  to  the  schoolhousc  in  the  night;  and, 
having  laid  in  a  stock  of  provisions  and  prepared  a 
great  variety  of  weapons  offensive  and  defensive,  they 
barricade  the  door  and  wait  the  coming  of  their  tyrant 
with  heroic  resolution. 

The  dreaded  hour  arrives.  The  pedagogue  appears 
with  his  usual  importance;  and.  perceiving  the  rebelli- 
ous disposition  evinced  by  his  subjects,  demands  admit- 
tance with  a  voice  of  thunder.  lie  is  repulsed,  tie 
assumes  the  most  terrific  countenance,  and  threatens 
destruction  to  every  one  who  shall  persist  in  oppos.tion 
to  the  commands  of  the  sovereign. 

Finding  menaces  ineffectual,  he  has  recourse  to  en- 
treaty; and  endeavors  to  gain  admittance  by  stratagem. 
The  rebels  are  not  to  be  thrown  off  their  guard  by  spe- 
cious pretences  and  professions  of  amity.     He  endeav- 
P 


170  THE    SAVAGE. 

ors  to  force  an  entrance  by  the  door  and  by  the  win- 
dows; but  being  foiled  in  every  attempt,  he  retreats  to 
the  country,  and  soon  raises  a  posse  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
young  men  to  assist  him  in  reconquering  his  dominions. 

They  approach  the  fort,  armed  with  cudgels,  in  mili- 
tary array,  and  with  flying  colors.  The  drum  beats  to 
arms  in  the  garrison:  and  the  flag  of  defiance  is  hoisted 
from  the  top  of  the  chimney.  A  summons  to  surrender 
is  answered  by  a  resolute  refusal;  and  an  instant  assault 
is  the  consequence. 

The  assailants  attack  the  door  with  battering  engines, 
and  storm  the  windows  with  impetuous  fury.  But  show- 
ers of  fire,  stones,  brickbats,  and  wooden  spears,  are 
poured  from  the  windows.  The  pedagogical  army  is 
at  length  repulsed,  and  retreats  in  confusion. 

Not  however  intimidated  by  a  first  defeat,  they  re- 
new the  attack  with  redoubled  resolution.  Scaling  lad- 
ders are  applied  to  the  walls;  and  they  mount  on  the 
top  of  the  building.  They  tear  up  the  roof,  and,  throw- 
ing down  shingles  with  fury,  they  threaten  destruction 
to  the  garrison.  But  showers  of  missiles  from  below, 
and  the  vengeful  points  of  a  hundred  spears,  oblige 
them  to  retreat  from  their  perilous  situation. 

Worsted  in  this  second  attempt,  they  recede  to  a  re- 
spectful distance,  kindle  fires,  and  erect  tents  to  repel 
the  inclemencies  of  the  season.  The  siege  becomes  a 
blockade.  The  besiegers  endeavor  to  intercept  the 
provisions  designed  for  the  relief  of  the  garrison;  and 
the  besieged,  sometimes,  make  resistless  sallies,  storm 
the  camp  of  the  enemy,  and  bear  away  the  whiskey  keg 
and  other  necessaries  of  life,  in  triumph,  to  the  strong 
hold  of  rebellion. 

The  siege  is  continued  for  several  days,  sometimes 
for  a  week.  Sentinels  are  stationed  during  the  night; 
watchwords  are  given;  and  every  thing  is  conducted  in 
military  style. 

However,  at  length,  the  minds  of  the  belligerents, 
from  various  considerations  not  necessary  to  be  men- 
tioned,  begin  to  be  disposed  for  an   accommodation. 


THE    SAY  AGE, 


171 


Articles  of  capitulation  are  drawn  up,  and  signed  by 
the  parlies.  The  rebels  engage  to  return  to  their  alle- 
giance; and  the  teacher  to  grant  them  a  specified  num- 
ber of  Christmas  holydays,  that  they  may  visit  their  re- 
lations, and  make  merry  with  their  companions.  The 
affair  is  concluded  by  a  plentiful  dinner  in  the  school- 
house.     All  is  harmony. 

What  do  you  think  of  a  barring-out?  Is  it  not  a 
most  animating  conflict?  The  xery  image  of  war, 
nay  sometimes  war  itself;  fori  forgot  to  tell  you  that  oc- 
casionally the  pedagogue's  party  proves  victorious. 
The  vanquished  boys  return  to  their  books  with  shame 
and  confusion;  and  are  no  longer  cheered  with  the 
prospect  of  mirth  and  festivity. 

Upon  lookingover  what  I  have  written,  I  think 

Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think,  Piomingo?  I  think — but 
I  am  afraid  you  will  make  some  satirical  observation 
on  my  vanity  and  presumption.  However,  out  it  must 
come.  1  think  I  have  a  wonderful  talent  for  composi- 
tion. I  should  excel  in  the  description  of  battles. — 
Faith,  I  have  a  notion  to  try  my  hand  at  an  epic  poem 
on  this  subject.  But  then  I  should  be  puzzled  to  find 
a  name  of  sufficient  dignity:  a  great  deal  depends  on 
the  name,   Piomingo. 

This  is  christmas.  You  must  be  merry  if  you  can. 
We  cannot  treat  you  with  a  death  song,  a  war  dance,  or 
:i feast  of 'new  com,  in  this  civilized  country;  but  we  will 
allow  you  to  get  drunk  in  honor  of  the  day,  if  you  have 
the  money  requisite  for  that  purpose. 

Farewell.     1  am  to  dine   with  my  aunt.      She   has 
made   some  extraordinary  preparations.     The  idea  of 
aunt  Sarah  Poorly  cools  the   fervor  of  my  imagination. 
I  am,  dear  Savage, 

Yours,         T.  Rattle. 

As  we  derived  considerable  amusement  from  the  pc- 
rusal  of  the  foregoing  letter,  we  concluded  that  it  might 
afford  a  momentary  entertainment  to  the  public.  The 
writer  has  given  a  faithful  description  of  a  barring-out, 
which  will  not  be  destitute  of  novelty  to  some  of  our 


172  THE    SAVAGE. 

readers.  We  would  not  however  advise  Rattle  to  write 
an  epic  poem  on  the  subject,  for  several  reasons.  As 
he  himself  justly  remarks,  it  would  be  almost  impossible 
to  find  a  sesquipedalian  title:  Bariungoutiad,  though 
a  highsounding  word,  is  too  ignoble  in  its  origin  to  an- 
swer the  purpose.  The  subject  itself  does  not  appear 
to  possess  sufficient  dignity  for  wwrpopea;  and  it  would 
require,  we  are  afraid,  more  genius  than  our  friend  pos- 
sesses to  introduce  suitable  machinery.  Who  would 
be  the  hero  of  the  poem?  and  what  would  be  the  moral 
tendency  of  the  performance?  For  it  is  to  be  remem- 
bered that  in  every  heroic  poem  not  only  a  poetical  but 
a  moral  object  is  to  be  discovered.  The  poet,  though 
"wild  warm"  he  sings  the  actions  of  heroes  and  the  ex- 
ploits of  the  gods,  calculates  with  philosophic  coolness 
what  maybe  the  moral  effects  of  his  verses  on  future 
generations. 

We  assure  our  friend  Rattle  that  we  love,  as  well  as 
he,  those  joyous  festivals,  those  annual  seasons  of  re- 
joicing, that  break  in  upon  the  dull  monotony  of  human 
life  and  give  variety  to  existence; — but  here,  the  long- 
hard  pull  for  worldly  superiority  is  never  intermitted. 
There  is  nothing  but  labor,  calculation,  anxiety;  we 
have  not  time  to  be  happy. 

EDUCATION. 

Nothing  is  equally  important,  yet  nothing  so  univer- 
sally neglected  as  education.  The  business  of  enlighten- 
ing the  understandings,  and  forming  the  minds  of  youth 
is  accounted  a  servile  and  low  occupation,  and  conse- 
quently falls  into  the  hands  of  those  who  are  utterly  in- 
capable of  fulfilling  the  task. 

The  most  important  part  of  education  is  not  to  com- 
municate knowledge,  but  to  form  the  mind  and  give  a 
salutary  direction  to  those  constitutional  impulses  or  in- 
nate propensities  which  are  discoverable  in  childhood 
and  developed  in  youth.  If  these  be  neglected,  all  is 
neglected:  and  the  happiness  of  millions  is  left  to  the 
guidance  of  chance. 


THE    SAVAGE.  173 

But  the  fact  is  this:  education  begins  much  sooner  than 
is  generally  supposed.  The  temper  is  formed  and  the 
character  settled,  before  the  child  is  committed  to  the 
care  of  a  teacher;  and  the  only  thing  that  can  be  expect- 
ed from  him  is  instruction  in  a  few  dry  clcmcntsof  science, 
which  may  quality  the  pupil  to  make  his  way  in  the 
world.  The  greater  share  of  education  therefore,  falls  to 
the  lot  of  the  parent:  and  they  are  miserably  qualified 
for  the  important  oitice.  They  permit  vitious  habits  to 
take  deep  root  in  ihe  infant  mind,  but  promise  to  eradi- 
cate them  when  the  child  shall  become  sufficiently  intel- 
ligent to  understand  the  design  of  correction!  What 
deplorable  infatuation!  Is  it  not  much  easier  to  prevent 
the  formation  of  evil  dispositions  than  to  destroy  them 
after  they  are  formed?  Is  it  not  much  easier  to  oppose 
theingress  of  vice  than  to  eject  it  after  it  has  entered  and 
fortified  itself  in  the  citadel?  Shall  the  husbandman  per- 
mit noxious  plants  and  weeds  of  every  description  to 
spring  up  and  flourish  in  his  fields,  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
stroying them  when  the  roots  have  sunk  deep  in  the  soil, 
and  the  task  has  become  impracticable!  Shall  he  make 
ready  to  cut  down  the  thistles  and  briers  after  they  have 
choked  the  good  seed,  and  the  hopes  of  the  harvest  have 
vanished? 

How  often  do  we  hear  a  father  or  mother  observing, 
when  one  of  their  children  has  committed  a  fault,  ^Well, 
well,  I  shall  let  you  alone  now;  but  when  you  get  a  little 
older,  if  I  find  you  guilty  of  such  improprieties,  I  shall 
certainly  correct  you."  Silly  parent!  When  the  period 
arrives  to  which  you  allude,  you  will  find  your  powers 
inadequate  to  effect  the  reformation  intended.  You  will 
find  the  scheme  attended  with  so  much  vexation  and 
difficulty,  that  you  will  assuredly  neglect  it.  By  this  weak 
and  blind  indulgence  you  may  spare  your  children  a 
momentary  uneasiness,  but  you  renderyourself  accounta- 
ble, to  the  author  of  your  existence,  for  the  follies,  the 
crimes,  and  the  sorrows  of  their  subsequent  lives. 

We  do  not  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  innate  depravity. 
Man  is  the  creature  of  education:  by  timely  and  judicious 
P2 


174  THE    SAVAGE. 

management,  the  mind  might  be  inclined  to  the  practice 
of  virtue,  and  the  necessity  of  correction  prevented;  but 
if  evil  propensities  appear,  let  them  receive  immediate 
attention;  every  moment  of  delay  will  increase  the  diffi- 
culty of  the  task,  and  lessen  the  probability  of  its  ac- 
complishment. 

Another  great  error  in  education  is  the  practice  of 
indulging  every  childish  whim  and  gratifying  every  ca- 
pricious inclination. 

"Why,  what  would  the  savage  advise?  Would  he 
have  us  to  turn  tyrants,  and  deprive  our  children  of  the 
innocent  amusements  and  recreations  of  youth'.15  By  no 
means,  madam;  that  is  not  our  intention.  We  would 
have  you  encourage,  direct,  and  partake  of  their  amuse- 
ments: you  cannot  be  more  usefully  employed.  You 
will  thus  have  an  opportunity  to  cherish  every  virtuous 
emotion,  encourage  every  dawning  of  honorable  ambi- 
tion, and  suppress  the  first  rising  of  inordinate  desires. 

"But  the  dear  little  things  are  too  young  to  encounter 
opposition.  When  they  have  acquired  a  little  knowledge 
and  strength  of  mind,  it  is  time  enough  to  make  them 
acquainted  with  the  necessity  of  submitting  to  restraint." 
But  how  are  they  to  acquire  strength  of  mind  if  you  in- 
dulge them  at  present  in  all  their  unreasonable  caprices? 
The  time  must  come  when  you  will  find  it  impossible  to 
gratify  all  iheirinclinations:  and  after  their  passions  have 
become  headstrong  and  their  tempers  violent  by  injudi- 
cious compliances,  they  will  not  be  disposed  to  attend 
to  your  admonitions  or  submit  to  the  rigor  of  your  dis- 
cipline. How  much  better  to  habituate  their  minds  to 
Hie  necessary  restraints,  and  prepare  them  for  the  diffi- 
culties and  misfortunes  of  life?  The  yoke  sits  easy  on  the 
neck  which  has  been  long  accustomed  to  bear  it. 

Nothing  is  more  desirable  than  strength  of  mind.  We 
have  many  evils  to  encounter  in  our  journey  through  life. 
We  have  need  of  perseverance  to  enable  us  to  surmount 
difficulties,  and  of  fortitude  to  bear  unavoidable  afflic- 
tions. The  world  is  not  a  paradise  created  for  our  use, 
and  subjected  to  our  wishes:  those  therefore,  who  study 


THE    SAVAGE.  175 

incss  of  their  children,  should  let  them  feel 
from  the  beginning  the  necessity  of  commanding  their 
assions,  and  restraining  their  desires. 

But  although  the  greatest  and  most  important  part  of 
education  falls  to  the  management  of  parents,  yet  much 
might  sometimes  be  done  by  judicious  teachers  in  giving 
a  salutary  direction  to  those  impulses  of  genius  and 
openings  of  character  which  are  discoverable  among 
boys  at  places  of  public  instruction.  For  although  we 
have  given  it  as  our  opinion,  that  man  is  the  creature  of 
education,  yet  we  believe  that  there  are  certain  constitu- 
tional dispositions  in  every  child  which  may  be  noted  by 
an  accurate  observer;  and  these  ought  to  receive  the 
earliest  attention  from  everyone  who  is  entrusted  with 
tin;  management  of  youth. 

Some  are  naturally  anient,  enterprising,  ambitious; 
others  cold,  uua<piring,phlegmatic.  Some  are  sanguine, 
fearless,  resolute;  others  timid,  backward,  and  prone  to 
despond.  Some  are  remarkable  fortheirardent  thirst  for 
admiration, and  tea  r  of  every  species  of  reproach;  while  o- 
theisappear  a  like  insensible  of  praise  and  condemnation. 

But  all  these  things  are  unnoticed  by  the  mercenary 
teacher;  whose  only  study  is  what  immediate  advantage 
he  can  derive  from  his  irksome  employment,  and  how 
soon  he  may  be  enabled  to  engage  in  some  business  more 
honorable  and  productive  of  more  considerable  emolu- 
ments. 

Young  Ardent  was  a  boy  of  the  most  shining  abilities; 
but  he  was  ambitious  of  being  distinguished  above  his 
fellows  in  every  undertaking.  Conscious  of  deserving 
applause  for  his  literary  performances,  he  was  indig- 
nant at  the  preference  given  to  others  every  way  his  in- 
feriors. Disappointed  of  the  distinction  he  merited  by 
hid  laudable  exertions,  he  determined  to  seek  for  ano- 
ther species  of  preeminence.  He  became  a  projector  of 
mischief,  a  leader  of  riols,  and  was  continually  engaged 
in  souk!  conspiracy  against  the  good  order  of  the  semin- 
ary. Ardent  was  expelled.  He  engaged  in  a  career  of 
dissipation  and  extravagance.     Supported  by  his  for- 


176  THE    SAVAGE. 

tune  and  admired  for  his  talents,  he  shone  for  awhile 
with  distinguished  splendor  in  the  circles  of  fashion. 
Ardent  was  generous,  undesigning,  and  incapable  of 
every  species  of  dissimulation;  but  his  favored  associates 
were  artful  timeserving  parasites.  They  fed  him  with 
adulation  till  his  funds  were  exhausted; — what  then? 
Deserted  by  the  swarm  of  admirers,  deprived  of  that 
applause  which  had  become  necessary  to  his  existence, 
he  had  time  to  reflect.  But  Ardent  would  not  reflect. 
He  had  recourse  to  the  intoxicating  bowl.  Why  should 
we  mention  the  sequel?  He  fell  a  victim  to  his  follies. 
Not  a  tear  was  shed  over  his  grave. 

Why  did  not  Ardent  enjoy  a  long  life  of  happiness 
and  honor?  Why  did  he  not  become  an  ornamentto  his 
friends  and  a  blessing  to  his  country?  Was  there  no  one 
culpable  but  Ardent?  To  whom  shall  we  trace  the  fault? 
To  those  who  had  the  care  of  his  infancy:  to  the  weak- 
ness of  his  father  and  the  foolish  indulgence  of  hismother. 
To  those  who  had  the  management  of  his  education: 
who  refused  to  bestow  the  rewards  he  had  merited  by 
his  literary  exertions;  who  treated  his  errors  with  rigor- 
ous severity.  In  fine,  to  all  those  who  neglected  to  give 
the  proper  direction  to  his  aspiring  disposition. 


MOTHER  WIT. 

By  this  homely  appellation  we  wish  to  designate  that 
natural  superiority  of  intellect  which  some  men  possess 
over  others. 

It  is  the  gift  of  nature,  and  cannot  be  infused  by 
education,  or  acquired  by  the  persevering  exertions  of 
industry.  It  is  often  discoverable  in  men  the  most  un- 
informed and  illiterate;  and  its  absence  may  be  perceiv- 
ed in  others  who  have  received  the  most  finished  edu- 
cation, and  whose  minds  are  stored  with  the  greatest 
variety  of  scientifical  information.  It  is  generally  term- 
ed good  natural  sense;  but  is  altogether  different  from 
that  quickness  of  intellect  usually  denominated  wit.  It 
appears  to  have  no  connexion  with  cunning  and  dupli- 
city, but  is  mostly  accompanied  by  sincerity  and  candor. 


THE    SAVAGE.  177 

[t  always  preserves  its  possessor  from  making  a  ridicu- 
U9  display  of  his  literary  acquirement?,  and  never 
ails  to  observe  the  first  appearance  of  pedantry  in  others. 

There  are  whom  Heaven  lias  blessed  with  stores  of  wit, 
Who  want  as  much  a^rain  to  govern  it. 

Whatever  may  he  meant  by  the  wit  mentioned  in 
ic  first  line  of  this  couplet,  the  thing  said  to  be  wanting 
is  the  subject  of  our  present  remarks. 

Little  Vivid  is  remarkable  for  saying  good  t h ings  and 
making  lively  observations.  He  knows  a  hundred  cu- 
rious anecdotes,  and  tells  a  most  excellent  story.  Yet 
an  accurate  observer  may  immediately  perceive  that 
there  is  something  wanting  in  Vivid.  His  good  tilings 
are  produced  at  unseasonable  times;  .and  his  spirited 
observations  are  frequently  misapplied.  His  anecdotes 
are  sometimes  irrelative  to  the  subject  of  discourse;  and 
he  indulges  in  the  repetition  of  stories  which  are  as 
well  known  to  the  company  as  to  himself. 

Our  friend  Prolix  has  read  a  multitude  of  books,  and 
possesses  a  fund  of  interesting  information.  There  is 
scarcely  any  subject  but  he  is  capable  of  treating  with 
ingenuity,  and  illustrating  by  appropriate  passages  from 
history  both  ancient  and  modern.  But  there  is  no  end 
to  his  discussions.  The  auditors,  who  attend  at  first 
with  delight  to  his  masterly  disquisitions,  at  length  be- 
come weary,  and  exhibit  indications  of  inattention  and 
lassitude;  but  Prolix  perceives  it  not.  He  continues 
his  harrangue  as  long  as  any  one  will  listen.  There  is 
something  wanting  in  Prolix. 

Doctor  Worthy  was  a  learned  and  pious  clergyman. 
He  was  not  only  reverenced  for  the  sanctity  of  his  char- 
acter, but  highly  respected  for  his  literary  acquire* 
meats.  He  was  distinguished  by  his  propensity  for  ma- 
thematical studies  as  well  as  his  love  for  the  religion  of 
Christ;  and  never  appeared  so  happy  as  when  engag- 
ed in  theological  disputes,  or  employed  in  the  solution 
of  algebraical  problems.  Yet  we  have  known  a  con- 
temptible and  ignorant  coxcomb,  who  had  nothing  but 
money  and  impudence   to  recommend  him,  to  set  this 


178  THE    SAVAGE. 

worthy  man  in  a  ridiculous  light  before  a  numerous  as- 
sembly. This  animal  would  put  on  a  grave  face,  and 
accost  the  doctor  concerningjustification  by  faith,  or  the 
intrinsic  merit  of  good  works,  appearing,  at  the  same 
time,  inclined  to  favor  certain  heretical  opinions.  The 
doctor  would  answer  with  a  warmth  corresponding  to 
the  importance  of  the  subject.  Mr.  Flippant  would 
6tart  objections,  which  would  be  answered;  express 
doubts,  which  would  be  removed  ;  desire  information  con- 
cerning interesting  particulars,  which  would  be  granted. 
The  whole  company  perceived  the  intentions  ofMr. 
Flippant  to  quiz  the  parson;  every  one  smiled  and  par- 
took of  the  sport.  The  doctor  saw  il  not.  He  was  a 
learned  man;  but  there  was  something  wanting,  which 
his  theological  knowledge  and  mathematical  acutcness 
could  never  supply. 

THE  SAVAGE— NO.  XII I.  ^ 

MANUFACTORIES. 

Nothing  hastens  more  rapidly  the  progress  of  civili- 
zation than  the  establishment  of  manufactories.  They 
elevate,  exercise,  and  enlighten  the  "directing  mind," 
which  oversees  the  whole  and  regulates  the  complicated 
movements,  but  sink  and  degrade  the  actual  manufac- 
turer into  a  necessary  piece  of  machinery. 

There  must  be  but  one  mind  in  a  manufactory.  If  any 
subaltern  operator  be  capable  of  thought,  it  must  lie  dor- 
mant, and  ere  long  become  torpid:  for  how  can  any 
faculty  subsist  in  vigor  which  is  never  called  into  motion, 
or  exercised  in  the  sphere  for  which  it  was  designed? 
The  same  operations  are  performed  sometimes  by  a  man, 
and  sometimes  by  a  wheel:  they  are  both  necessary  parts 
of  the  great  machine  set  in  motion  by  the  mind  of  the 
intelligent  regulator. 

Nature  has  given  man  thecapacity  of  perceiving,  re- 
flecting, reasoning,  forming  a  judgment,  and  acting  in 
consequence  of  his  judgment  when  formed;  but,  if  he 
be  not  master  of  his  own  actions,  there  is  no  necessity 
for  his  forming  a  judgment,  reasoning,  or  exercising  any 


THE    SAVAGE.  179 

of  the  powers  of  his  mind:  he  feels  the  influence  of  the 
soul  of  the  machinery  which  impels  him  to  action,  in 
the  same  manner  that  the  wheel  feels  the  impulse  of  the 
water  or  the  force  of  the  stream. 

The  more  various  the  employments  of  any  man,  the 
more  necessity  he  finds  to  exercise  his  mental  faculties, 
and  the  greater  is  the  probability  of  their  improvement; 
but,  as  manufactories  gradually  approach  to  perfection, 
the  operations  of  the  actual  laborer  become  more  and 
more  co:  fined  to  a  point;  and  in  the  same  ratio,  the  man 
must  sink  into  the  machine. 

It  may  be  observed  also  that  this  pernicious  influence 
is  not  confined  to  the  mind  of  the  laborer,  but  affects 
also  the  body:  one  position  and  one  set  of  motions  must 
be  unfavorable lo  the  human  frame;  as  some  parts  re- 
ceive more  than  their  due  proportion  of  exercise,  and 
others  are  not  exercised  at  all.  We  have  no  intention  of 
dilating  at  present  on  the  consequences  of  large  manu- 
facturing establishments  upon  the  health  of  the  laborers: 
we  merely  mention  this  circumstance,  as  it  appears  in- 
timately connected  with  our  foregoing  observations. 

Before  manufactories  can  be  established  to  advantage, 
civilization  must  have  made  considerable  advancement: 
there  must  be  a  disparity  of  ranks;  there  must  be  luxury 
ancrpovcrty,  masters  and  slaves.  Luxury  is  necessary  to 
create  a  demand  for  the  articles  manufactured;  and  po- 
verty is  necessary  toquaiify  laborers  for  the  employment. 
But  when  manufactories  are  once  fairly  established,  they 
will  support  themselves,  and  help  along  wonderfully 
with  the  good  work  of  civilization.  When  men  are  so 
much  depressed  by  poverty  as  to  be  under  the  necessity 
of  becoming  a  part  of  this  complex  machinery,  their 
destination  is  settled:  they  never  will  be  able  to  extricate 
themselves  from  their  degraded  situation.  They  are 
habituated  to thciremployment,and  disqualified  forother 
occupations;  their  master  becomes  rich  and  consequently 
powerful;  his  ascendency  over  them  continually  increas- 
es; their  children  are  brought  up  to  the  same  occupation ; 
the  price  of  labor  is  gradually  diminished;  and  erery 


180  THE    SAVAGE. 

spark  of  independence  is  extinguished  in  their  besoms. 

In  any  of  those  trades  which  can  he  carried  on  by 
one  man,  the  journeyman  may  hope,  that  through  his 
persevering  cxeriions,  the  time  may  come  when  he  shall 
be  able  to  sot  up  for  himself:  and  this  hope  acts  as  a  spur 
to  his  industry,  and  keeps  alive  the  vigor  and  indepen- 
dence of  his  mind;  but  in  a  great  manufactory,  the  la- 
borer is  only  qualified  lo  be  what  he  is — a  part  of  the 
machinery:  he  is  incapable  of  managing  the  whole;  and 
if  he  were,  he  can  never  hope  to  accumulate  the  sum 
necessary  for  a  stupendous  establishment. 

The  thing  most  to  be  lamented  is  the  disqualifying 
nature  of  these  employments,  which  incapicitate  men 
for  any  of  the  common  pursuits  of  life;  and  if  any  unfor- 
tunate casualty  should  destroy  those  establishments  that 
afford  them  a  subsistence,  they  become  a  burthen  to  the 
community  and  a  terror  to  society  in  general. 

It  ought  lo  be  the  great  care  of  a  republican  govern- 
ment (if  indeed  it  be  possible  for  a  republican  govern- 
ment to  subsist  for  any  length  of  time  among  civilized 
men)  to  preserve  equality  among  its  citizens;  but  the 
establishment  of  manufactories  has  a  direct  tendency  to 
destroy  c\avy  trace  of  equality  and  extend  the  influence 
of  one;  opulent  man  over  hundreds  of  those  who  are 
poor.  Now,  if  the  men  subject  to  this  influence  be  de- 
prived of  the  right  of  suffrage,  it  follows  that  a  multi- 
tude are  degraded  from  the  rank  of  citizens,  and  are  no 
Ion  ger  suffered  to  participate  in  thegovernment  of  their 
country.  Would  not  this  be  preposterous  in  a  repre- 
sentative democracy?  But  if  they  be  not  deprived  of 
the  right  of  suffrage,  the  consequence  is  still  more  un- 
fortunate. For  their  votes  are  the  votes  of  their  opu- 
lent employer:  and  the  government  becomes  an  aris- 
tocracy the  most  odious — the  aristocracy  of  wealth. 

A  despotic  prince  acts  wisely  when  he  extends  the 
commerce  of  the  nation,  establishes  manufactories,  and 
encourages  every  institution  that  he  conceives  will  have 
a  tendency  to  produce  inequality  among  his  subjects; 
because  his  throne  is  supported  by  the   attachment  of 


THE    SAVAGE.  181 

those  who  have  extended  their  power  over  the  inferior 
ranks  of  society,  and  consequently  are  friendly  to  ex- 
isting establishments;  but  a  government  designed  for 
the  good  of  the  community  in  general,  when  it  directs 
its  intention  exclusively  to  those  objects,  is  acting  di- 
rectly contrary  to  the  end  of  its  institution.  On  the 
contrary  all  its  laws  and  regulations  should  be  calcu- 
lated, as  much  as  possible,  to  produce  and  preserve 
equality  among  the  citizens,  and  to  prevent  any  man 
or  set  of  men  from  acquiring  and  exercising  power 
over  others. 


PUNCTUATION:    FROM   CRITO. 

I  have  often  been  amused,  Piomingo,  at  hearing 
children  taught  to  mind  their  stops,  "This  is  a  comma: 
at  this  mark,  you  must  stop  till  you  could  count  one, — 
This  is  a  semicolon:  here  you  must  pause  till  you  could 
count  one,  two.  This  is  a  colon,  &c."  Now  if  this  non- 
sense were  confined  to  the  vulgar,  and  to  the  select  a- 
cademies  of  illiterate  pedagogues,  it  would  not  excite 
so  much  surprise;  but  when  such  absurdities  are  grave- 
ly laid  down  by  the  compilers  of  dictionaries  and  gram- 
mars, it  becomes  worthy  of  attention. 

How  the  characters  used  in  punctuation  came  to  be 
denominated  stops  or  pauses,  I  cannot  tell;  but  certain 
it  is,  the  practice  ought  to  be  discontinued  by  every 
one  who  makes  any  pretensions  to  accuracy.  These 
marks  or  characters  have  no  other  use  than  to  enable  us 
to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  author,  and  have  no 
connexion  with  pauses  in  speaking  or  in  reading.  No 
good  reader  was  ever  regulated  in  his  tones  or  pauses 
by  the  occurrence  of  a  comma  or  semicolon;  he  merely 
considers  these  as  guides  to  the  author's  meaning:  and 
having  become  master  of  the  sense,  his  own  judgment 
enables  him  to  adjust  his  pauses  without  any  regard  to 
the  place  where  the  comma  or  semicolon  occurred.  It 
is  granted  that  the  reading  pause  frequently  is  placed 
where  the  character  used  in  pointing  occurs;  but  as  this 
concurrence  is  by  no  means  necessary, these  characters 
Q  « 


182  THE    SAVAGE. 

can  never  serve  as  marks  to  point  out  the  place  of  paus- 
Colloquial and  reading  pauses  are  perfectly  similar; 
yet  we  have  no  commas,  semicolons,  colons,  and  peri- 
ods, to  direct  us  where  to  make  pauses  in  speaking:  nor 
are  they  necessary;  as  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  we  un- 
derstand what  we  say.  And  these  characters  would  be 
equally  unnecessary  in  reading,  were  we  not  in  danger 
of  mistaking  the  meaning  of  the  author. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell  how  the  ancients  were  able 
to  read  without  any  distinguishing  marks  of  this  kind; 
it  is  probable  they  had  rules  for  their  direction  of  which 
we  are  totally  ignorant:  but  it  may  be  observed  that 
in  the  Greek  and  Lalin  languages,  the  corresponding 
terminations  of  the  several  parts  of  speech  would,  for 
the  most  part,  prevent  ambiguity  and  indicate  the  mean- 
ing of  the  writer.  Those,  however,  who  construct  sen- 
tences in  the  modern  languages,  find  punctuation  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  point  out  those  relations  which  sub- 
sist between  qualities  and  substantives,  attributives  and 
verbs;  and  this  necessity  arises  from  the  multiplicity 
and  irregularity  of  our  terminations. 

Whoever  considers  this  subject  with  accuracy  will 
perceive  that  many  improvements  may  yet  be  made  in 
the  art  of  pointing;  and  that  it  is  impossible  it  should 
be  brought  to  perfection  with  the  characters  only,  which 
are  at  present  in  use.  From  this  circumstance  arise 
that  confusion  and  uncertainty  in  all  the  rules  that  are 
laid  down  for  our  direction  in  punctuation.  The  pre- 
sent characters,  however,  will  answer  every  common 
purpose  tolerably  well;  but  the  art  of  using  them  can 
only  be  acquired  by  long  continued  practice,  and  is 
not  to  be  attained  by  merely  consulting  the  rules  that 
are  laid  down  in  grammars  and  dictionaries.  Hence  it 
frequently  happens  that  men,  who  can  speak  and  write 
with  facility,  are  nevertheless  totally  ignorant  of  an  art 
necessary  to  be  known  by  every  one  who  has  occasion 
to  write  a  letter  to  his  friend. 

Every  gentleman,  who  presumes  to  write  for  the 


THE    SAVAGE.  183 

press,  should  certainly  be  capable  of  pointing  his  pro- 
ductions with  accuracy  and  taste;  yet  this  is  seldom  the 
case.  They  say  they  are  in  the  habit  of  submitting  these 
little  things  to  the  printers.  The  writer  of  this  article 
knows  that  such  is  their  practice:  and  a  judicious  one 
it  is;  for,  printers  in  general  can  point  more  correctly 
than  those  learned  and  ingenious  writers  who  enlighten 
the  world  with  their  luminous  productions. 

But  are  authors  aware  of  the  importance  of  this  little 
thing  which  they  submit  to  the  discretion  of  the  prin- 
ters?— Before  a  man  can  point  a  work  judiciously,  he 
must  be  perfectly  master  of  the  subject  and  enter  fully 
into  the  meaning  of  every  sentence.  Now,  who  can 
know  the  intention  of  the  writer,  but  the  writer  him- 
self? How  can  a  printer  understand  an  author's  manu- 
script (scrawled  as  it  usually  is)  without  the  assistance 
of  those  helps  which  punctuation  itself  is  designed  to 
afford?  If  a  printed  book  be  enigmatical  when  incor- 
rectly pointed,  how  is  a  manuscript  to  be  deciphered, 
and  its  meaning  extracted  by  a  printer?  And,  finally, 
is  it  reasonable  to  expect  that  a  printer  should  be  able 
to  understand  every  abstruse  and  scientitical  subject 
that  may  fall  into  his  hands? 

I  will  conclude  my  remarks  with  mentioning  an  inci- 
dent that  just  now  occurs  to  my  memory:  Boswell  re- 
presents Doctor  Johnson  as  laughing  heartily  at  a  noble 
author's  ignorance  of  the  art  of  punctuation.  "Lord 
Lyttelton  was  thirty  years  in  preparing  his  History;  and 
he  employed  a  man  to  point  it  for  him:  as  if  another 
man  could  point  his  sense  better  than  himself." 


THE  WALK. 

Many  men  expect  to  derive  amusement  from  a  walk; 
but,  upon  trial,  find  themselves  unaccountably  disap- 
pointed. 

If  they  walk  out  on  business, they  have  an  object  that 
engages  their  attention;  and  when  they  have  effected 
their  purpose,  they  return  home  satisfied  with  their  ex- 
cursion; but  if  they  go  out  in  pursuit  of  entertainment, 


184 


THE    SAVAGE. 


novel  appearances  and  unexpected  incidents  are  neces- 
sary in  order  to  awaken  those  pleasurable  emotions 
which  they  hope  to  experience.  Now,  when  we  purpose 
to  take  a  walk  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  what  novelty 
can  be  expected  to  occur  which  will  be  calculated  to 
excite  these  desirable  sensations?  We  know,  before 
we  set  out  from  the  place  of  our  residence,  that  we  shall 
have  brick  houses  on  the  right  hand  and  brick  houses 
on  the  left;  and  that  we- shall  encounter  a  multitude  of 
people  'black  brown  and  fair' all  in  pursuit  of  their  va- 
rious avocations:  what  entertainment  can  be  expected 
from  this  dull  regularity  and  insipid  uniformity  of  ap- 
pearances? And  if  the  walk  itself  afford  so  little  a- 
musement,howcan  we  hope  to  render  a  history  of  that 
walk  interesting  to  our  readers? 

It  may  be  observed,  in  answer  to  the  foregoing  ques- 
tions, that  there  is  one  advantage  which  may  always  be 
expected  from  walking,  unless  lost  through  the  indo- 
lence of  the  walker:  if  we  march  up-one  street  and 
down  another  until  we  be  completely  fatigued,  rest  will 
become  agreeable.  Hence  it  follows  that  a  positive 
pleasure  has  resulted  from  the  walk,  although  it  may  not 
have  been  attended  with  any  interesting  occurrences. 
And  something  of  this  nature  may  also  happen  to  the 
reader  who  shall  take  the  trouble  to  peruse  the  follow- 
ing production:  if  he  read  with  the  fond  expectation  of 
amusement,  and  find  himself  at  the  last  disappointed, 
he  may  notwithstanding  have  the  pleasure  of  throwing 
down  the  paper  and  bestowing  a  few  curses  on  our  sav- 
age dulness  and  stupidity. 

As  we  turned  round  a  corner,  we  encountered  Frank 
Fluent.  We  have  known  Frank  several  years,  and  are 
not  ignorant  of  his  faults;  but  there  is  something  so  a- 
musing  in  his  observations  that  we  are  always  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  when  we  partake  of  his  society. 

Frank.  Which  way  Piomingo?  Have  you  ventured 
from  your  wigwam?  I  congratulate  you  on  your  civilized 
appearance.  Were  it  not  for  thatsavage  wildness  in  your 
countenance,  (of  which  I  am  afraid  you  will  never  divest 


THE    SAVAGE.  185 

yourself)  you  might  pass  for  a  christian.     Do  you  know 
that  I  heard  a  dispute  concerning  you  the  other  day? 

Piomingo.  Of  what  nature? 

Frank.  Why  thus  it  happened:  I  was  standing  with 
some  gentlemen  at  the  southeast  corner  of  Third  and 
Market  streets,  when  Piomingo  marched  along  on  the 
opposite  side.  "Who  is  that  wild  looking  man?"  said 
one."  "1  cannot  tell,"  said  a  second;  "is  he  not  a  Ma- 
layan?" "No,"  said  a  third,  "I  believe  he's  an  Alge- 
rine."  "An  Algerine!"  cried  the  first,  "impossible! 
were  he  an  Algerine,  he  would  wear  a  turban  and  mus- 
taches. This  man  dresses  like  a  christian:  I  should 
rather  take  him  for  a  Spaniard  or  a  Portuguese."  "Do 
not  Spaniards  wear  mustaches?"  said  the  third.  "I  have 
seen  that  fellow  frequently  in  the  streets,"  said  a  fourth; 
"but  I  cannot  tell  what  to  make  of  him;  he  hasa  damn- 
ed outlandish  appearance." 

Piomingo.  And  what  did  you  say,  Frank?  you  could 
not  possibly  have  been  silent  all  this  while. 

Frank.  I  told  them  I  thought  you  were  a  spy. 

Piomingo.  Did  they  coincide  with  you  in  opinion? 

Frank.  Yes:  they  thought  my  conjecture  extremely 
probable ;  but,  some  of  them  said  you  were  in  the  pay  of 
Bonaparte;  others  contended  that  you  must  be  an  emis- 
sary of  England:  so  the  discourse  became  political;  and 
you  were  forgotten.  But,  my  dear  Piomingo,  what  is  the 
use  of  walking  for  ever?  Let  us  make  a  halt  at  some  of 
these  zoatcring  places,  and  refresh  ourselves. 

Piomingo.  How  shall  we  refresh  ourselves? 
Frank.  Bydrinking,smoking,talking,&c.  Come  along. 
Are  not  savages  naturally  fond  of  spirituous  liquors? 

Piomingo.  No  sir:  savages  are  not  naturally  fond  of 
spirituous  liquors.  They  drank  at  first  out  of  mere  com- 
plaisance to  their  christian  visitants;  but  having  once 
experienced  the  exhilarating  effects  of  ardent  spirits, 
many  of  them  have  become  addicted  to  intemperance. 
They  are  under  great  obligation  to  their  civilized  neigh- 
bors for  having  made  them  acquainted  with  the  plea- 
sures of  intoxication.  However,  I  have  no  objection  to 
Q2 


186  THE    SAVAGE. 

follow  you  into  the  temple  of  Bacchus  and  worship  the 
presiding  divinity, soberly;  but  I  shall  endeavor  to  avoid 
becoming  an  enthusiastic  devotee  in  his  service. 

This  house,  said  Frank  as  we  entered,  is  frequented 
by  idlers  of  every  description.  Here  you  may  be  enter- 
tained with  philosophical  disputes,  political  discussions, 
and  religious  disquisitions.  Nosubject  is  too  important  to 
be  agitated  over  a  bowl;  nor  is  any  thing  too  trivial  to 
occupy  attention.  See,  here  is  a  company  this  moment 
deeply  interested  in  the  politics  of  the  nation:  let  us  sit 
downonthe  opposite  side  and  watch  the  issue  of  the  contest. 

Piomingo.  I  am  careless  about  the  issue  of  the  contest 
— but  who  is  that  corpulent  man  at  the  end  of  the  table, 
with  the  red  face  and  enormous  belly? 

Frank,  That  is  Mr.  Bluff,  a  wealthy  grazier  and  a 
justice  of  the  peace  for  the  county  of  Philadelphia. 

Piomingo,  I  knew  he  was  wealthy,  by  the  confidence 
which  appears  in  his  countenance;  but  how  does  he  ad- 
mi  nister  justice  ?  is  he  learned  in  the  laws  of  his  country  ? 

Frank,  I  will  answer  you  in  the  words  of  the  son  of 
Sirach :  "how  should  he  get  wisdom,  whose  talk  is  of  bul- 
locks ?"  He  knows  no  more  of  the  law  than  I  do  of  Sanscrit. 
Yet  he  is  not  more  ignorant  than  his  brother  magistrates 
in  general.  There  is  not  one  in  a  hundred  of  them  who 
is  capable  of  reading  a  page  of  law,  even  if  they  thought 
proper  to  attempt  it.  Whenever  a  man  becomes  rich 
and  acquires  a  little  influence  in  his  neighborhood,  he  is 
immediately  created  a  justice  of  the  peace,  without  any 
inquiry  being  made  as  to  his  education  or  abilities. 

Piomingo.  But  I  thought  that  respectable  citizens 
were  always  selected  to  fill  an  office  of  such  importance 
to  the  community. 

Frank.  So  they  are,  I  assure  you,  Piomingo:  respecta- 
ble that  is  wealthy  citizens  are  always  appointed  to  this 
office.  Yes,  yes,  they  are  "all,  all,  respectable  men." 

Piomingo.  You  do  not  certainly  make  those  two 
words  synonymous  ? 

Frank.  With  us,  they,  are  perfectly  synonymous. 

Piomingo.  If  wealth  make  a  man  a  justice  of  the  peace, 


THE   SAVAGE.  787 

will  it  not  also  advance  him  to  a  scat  in  the  legislature? 

Frank.  Yes:  if  the  man  be  possessed  of  sufficient  cun- 
ning to  make  the  most  of  the  means  in  his  possession,  he 
may  become  a  senator  without  being  able  to  read  the  con- 
stitution of  the  state  which  he  swears  to  support,  or  to 
write  one  sentence  grammatically  in  the  language  of 
the  country. 

Piomingo.  You  ho wever  acknowled  ge  that  there  is  some- 
thing else,  besides  riches,  necessary  to  his  advancement. 

Frank.  Wealth  is  power:  but  if  a  man  be  an  idiot,  and 
make  no  use  of  the  power  he  possesses,  he  then  becomes 
an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  some  one  who  is  more  en- 
terprising and  ambitious;  and  that  influence,  which  he 
has  neglected  to  employ  for  his  own  advantage,  is  exerted 
in  favor  of  another.  We  sometimessee  an  indigent  man, 
who  has  talents  for  intrigue,  rise  rapidly  from  his  original 
insignificance  to  the  most  conspicuous  stations  in  the  com- 
munity; but  how  is  this  done?  He  begins  by  cringing  to 
theopulent,  and  is  advanced  thro' their  instrumentality. 

Piomingo.  Such  a  man  is  no  demagogue:  I  thought 
it  had  been  necessary,  for  one  who  would  become  emi- 
nent, in  a  democratical  state,  to  caress  the  poor  and 
conciliate  the  favor  of  the  multitude. 

Frank.  When  this  man  has  acquired  wealth,  or  the 
appearance  of  wealth,  he  then  becomes  a  demagogue: 
he  then  has  power  to  influence  the  people;  whereas,  in 
his  original  state  of  indigence,  had  he  attempted  to 
practice  any  demagogical  arts,  he  would  have  made 
himself  ridiculous. 

Piomingo.  Is  it,  then,  necessary  that  a  demagogue 
should  be  rich? 

Frank.  Certainly:  a  poor  man  is  necessarily  dependent 
on  the  opulent.  Who  then  can  influence  his  decisions — 
the  man  who  possesses  power,  or  he  who  possesses  none? 

Piomingo.  It  seems  to  follow  from  your  reasoning,  that 
the  people,  notwithstanding  their  poverty,  are  possessed 
of  the  power,  since  their  support  is  solicited  by  thericb. 

Frank.  The  people  may  choose  their  leader,  but  have 
no  power  to  pursue  any  plan  of  their  own.  Have  you  not 


188  THE    SAVAGE. 

demonstrated,  in  one  of  jour  Savages,  that  the  indigent 
man  is  always  a  slave;  though  he  has  sometimes  the 
liberty  of  exchanging  one  master  for  another? — What 
the  devil  do  you  mean,  Piomingo?  do  you  argue  in  favor 
of  civilization? 

Piomingo.  I  do  not  argue:  I  merely  suggest  those  ob- 
stacles that  occur,  lest  hereafter  there  might  appear  to 
be  some  broken  links  in  the  chain  of  your  reasoning. 
Do  you  not  allow  that  rich  men  are  sometimes  governed 
by  those  that  are  not  in  possession  of  riches? 

Frank.  Yes,  in  the  same  manner  that  a  weak  prince 
is  governed  by  his  favorites. 

Piomingo.  Do  not  most  of  your  constitutions  provide 
that  persons,  not  property,  are  to  be  represented  in  your 
legislative  assemblies? 

Frank.  There  are  verbal  provisions  to  that  effect  in 
some  of  our  written  constitutions;  yet  it  is  easy  to  prove 
that  property,  not  persons,  is  represented  in  every  assem- 
bly in  the  United  States. 

Q,uid  leges  sine  moribus 
Vanre  proficiunt? 

Wealth,  in  the  present  state  of  society,  exercises  a  sov- 
ereign and  independent  influence  and  laughs  at  the  laws 
or  constitutions  that  would  circumscribe  its  power.  It 
may  possibly  be  said  that,  let  a  man's  possessions  be  ever 
so  great,  he  has  but  one  vote  at  an  election.  But  let  us 
consider  the  subject  a  little  more  attentively:  suppose 
an  opulent  man  can  influence  the  suffrages  of  fifty  men 
on  such  occasions,  is  not  that  the  same  thing  in  reality 
as  if  these  votes  were  given  by  himself  personally  ?  No- 
thing is  more  common  than  to  hear  politicians  talk  ofa 
man's  vote  and  influence :  and  the  influence,  in  general, 
is  a  matter  of  much  more  importance  than  the  vote. 
Yet,  although  the  ascendency  of  wealth  is  openly  avow- 
ed, we  are  told  that  the  voters  are  perfectly  independ- 
ent; and  that  persons,  and  not  property,  are  represented. 
Piomingo.  What  appropriate  name  can  we  give  to 
your  government,  since  you  will  not  allow  it  to  be 
purely  republican? 


THE    SAVAGE.  189 

Frank.  It  is  a  representative  democracy  in  appear- 
ance; but  in  reality,  a  representative ploutocracy  or  gov- 
ernment of  wealth. 

Piotnitigo.  Really, Frank,  you  are  a  perfect  savage! 
I  am  amazed  that  any  one  who  has  tasted  the  sweets  of 
civilized  society  should  make  use  of  such  arguments. 

Frank.  Really,  Piomingo,  you  are  mistaken  if  you 
suppose  that  I  have  any  intention  of  exchanging  smiling 
fields,  cheerful  villages,  and  populous  cities,  for  the 
lonely  woods  and  gloomy  caverns  of  the  wilderness.  I 
had  much  rather  have  my  ears  stunned  with  the  "busy 
hum"  of  civilized  drunkards  in  a  crowded  stinking  grog- 
shop, than  trust  my  life  to 


-boasts  of  prey, 


Or  men  as  fierce  and  wild  as  they. 

Every  thing  wild  is  my  aversion :  even  you,  Piomingo, 
though  you  were  caught  young,  and  appear  to  be  as  tame 
as  a  lamb,  become  occasionally  an  object  of  horror. — 
When  I  observe  your  red  visage  and  high  cheekbones: 
when  I  think  of  your  skulking  and  howling,  your  pow- 
wows and  war  dances,  and  the  number  of  scalps  you 
have  taken;  I  shrink  with  involuntary  terror,  and  draw 
away  my  chair  from  the  savage.  No,  indeed,  I  am  no 
enemy  to  civilization;  but  I  think  it  quite  necessary  for 
a  man  who  has  to  make  his  Way  in  the  world  to  be  able 
to  form  a  just  estimate  of  things.  And  I  assure  you  that 
a  cunning  enterprising  fellow,  who  is  notburthened  with 
much  principle  or  deluded  by  the  bubble  honor,  may  do 
wonderfully  well:  by  suiting  himself  to  the  times  and 
taking  advantage  of  circumstances,  he  may  wriggle  in- 
to places  of  importance.  Why  should  I  object  to  the 
power  that  is  attendant  on  wealth,  when  I  have  a  pros- 
pect of  becoming  wealthy  myself?  Why  should  I  mourn 
over  the  miseries  or  depression  of  the  poor,  since  I  am 
resolutely  determined  to  be  numbered  with  the  rich? 
Then,  Piomingo,  when  I  shall  be  rich  (let me  anticipate 
the  pleasures  I  shall  enjoy)  when  I  shall  be  rich,  my  in» 
fluencc  shall  be  exerted,  not  for  the  good  of  my  subjects, 
but  for  my  own  individual  emolument.    I  glial!  be  re* 


190  THE    SAVAGE. 

presented  in  the  legislature,  or  become  a  legislator  my- 
self, and  make  laws  for  the  security  of  property. 

Piomingo.  Who  is  that  tall  pale  man  who  rails  so 
violently  against  jacobins  and  democrats? 

Frank.  Why  sir,  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you,  that 
neighbor  Smoothly  is  a  respectable  member  of  the  so- 
ciety of  Friends. 

Piomingo.  I  have  frequently  heard  the  word  respecta- 
ble applied  to  members  of  that  society.  Pray  inform 
me,  are  they  rich? 

Frank.  Yes. 

Piomingo.  But  there  must  of  course  be  some  poor 
members;  are  not  they  also  respectable? 

Frank.  Certainly  not:  but  I  must  inform  you  that 
there  is  very  little  poverty  within  pale  of  the  society. 
They  are  humanely  attentive  to  the  necessities  offriends, 
and  prevent  each  other  from  falling  into  indigence  and 
distress.  It  is  also  said  that  a  poor  member  must  be  very 
careful  to  walk  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  according 
to  the  good  order  established  among  friends,  or  they 
will  disown  him. 

Piomingo.  What  is  the  consequence  of  that? 

Frank.  The  ejected  member  becomes  "as  a  heathen 
man  and  a  publican;"  disowning  is  a  soft  word  for  ex- 
communication. 

Piomingo.  But  if  a  respectable  friend  should  act  im- 
properly, will  they  not  also  disown  him? 

Frank.  Why — not  so  hastily.  They  will  wink  at  hi? 
irregularities  a  long  time,  unless  he  should  be  guilty  of 
some  glaring  indecorum  which  will  reflect  disgrace  on 
the  society:  in  that  case  they  reluctantly  proceed  to 
deal  with,  and  gently  admonish,  their  backsliding  bro- 
ther; and  if  he  prove  irreclaimable,  they  are  tinally 
compelled  (when  every  hope  of  reformation  has  vanish- 
ed) to  proceed  in  the  business  of  disowning  the  respect- 
able friend. 

Piomingo.  Can  you  assign  any  reason  why  this  peo- 
ple are  so  opulent? 

Frank.  It  is  in  a  great  measure  owing  to  their  regu- 


THE    SAVAGE.  191 

lar  and  industrious  habits,  their  avoidance  of  dissipated 
pleasures,  and  their  neglect  of  expensive  amusements. 
They  carry  an  experimental  prudence  into  all  the  con- 
cerns oflife,  and  are  seldom  led  away  by  any  of  those 
visionary  speculations  winch  prove  so  destructive  to  the 
bold  and  enterprising.  Their  religious  principles  for- 
bid them  to  engage  in  political  commotions,  or  to  accept 
of  important  situations  in  the  government:  consequent- 
ly their  minds  are  never  distracted  by  the  callsof  ambi- 
tion; nor  is  there  any  thing  to  divert  their  attention  from 
the  great  business  of  accumulating  riches.  What  ad- 
vantage their  religion  will  afford  them  in  the  world  which 
is  to  come,  I  cannot  tell;  but  certain  it  is,  that,  in  the 
present  state  of  existence,  it  has  conferred  on  its  vota- 
ries favors  important  and  substantial. 

Piomingo.  Their  simplicity  of  dress  probably  con- 
tributes to  lighten  their  expenses. 

Frank.  1  imagine  not.  Observe  neighbor  Smooth- 
Iy's  dress:  it  is  composed  of  the  richest  materials;  and 
though  there  appears  to  be  nothing  superfluous  about 
him, yet  the  sum  that  was  expended  on  those  vestments 
would  have  bought  two  suits  for  Jack  Flash  or  Bobby 
Chitterling. 

Piomingo.  No  objection  can  be  made  to  the  dress,  but 
its  singularity.  However,  in  my  opinion,  such  little 
peculiarities  discover  a  species  of  weakness  or  affectation. 

Frank.  I  hate  the  starched  plainness  of  neighbor 
Smoothly;  but  I  think  the  gay  quakcrs,  at  least  the  fe- 
male part  of  them,  have  hit  upon  a  medium,  between 
flaunting  finery  and  puritanical  stiffness,  which  is  ex- 
tremely becoming:  I  never  see  them  returning  from  their 
meeting  but  1  think  of  the  simplex  munditiis  of  Horace. 

Piomingo.  Females  are  pleasing,  be  their  dress  what 
it  may. 

Frank.  What,  in  brown  bonnets,  rusty  gowns,  and 
dovccolored  handkerchiefs ! 

Piomingo.  I  haveseensome  old  gentlemen  belonging 
to  this  society  who,  though  dressed  in  the  plainest  man- 
ner, had  a  truly  reverend  and  patriarchal  appearance; 


192  THE    SAVAGE. 

and  in  their  countenances  shone  such  engaging  mild- 
ness and  benignity  that  they  commanded  my  love  and 
veneration ;  but  there  is  nothing  of  this  kind  in  Smooth- 
ly. I  discover,  in  his  countenance,  an  ostentatious  hu- 
mility and  spiritual  pride  totally  at  variance  with  that 
meekness  of  spirit  and  lowliness  of  mind,  which  con- 
ciliates the  affections  of  men,  and  is  said  to  be  pleasing 
to  the  deity.  But  why  should  he  be  opposed  to  changes 
and  revolutions?  did  not  his  sect  first  originate  by  inno- 
vations on  the  established  regulations  of  the  country? 

Frank.  You  know  the  old  adage,  "We  change  with 
the  times."  In  those  days,  the  Friends  were  poor  op- 
pressed and  discontented;  but  now  "Jeshurun  waxeth 
fat  and  kicketh."  The  rich  are  always  averse  to  inno- 
vation. Were  George  Fox  to  rise  from  the  dead,  he 
would  not  own  more  than  one  out  of  a  hundred  of  the 
modern  friends  for  his  disciples;  nor  do  I  believe  that 
one  in  a  hundred  would  acknowledge  him.  They  no 
longer  travel  from  pole  to  pole  to  propagate  their  opin- 
ions, or  proclaim  from  the  housetops  the  glad  tidings  of 
salvation.  They  no  longer  strive  to  make  converts  of 
kings,  or  go  forth  as  apostles  to  regenerate  the  world. 
Their  religious  fervor  has  cooled;  their  contempt  of 
danger  is  vanished ;  and  the  spirit  of  martyrdom  has 
evaporated. 

Piomingo.  Smoothly  is  gone. 

Frank.  Justice  Bluff  made  so  much  noise  that  the 
friend  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  his  company.  And  he 
began  to  reflect  that  it  was  unbecoming  in  Friend 
Smoothly  to  be  seen  disputing  in  a  tavern.  As  to  this 
gentleman  personally,  there  is  a  cause  for  his  irritation, 
which  he  will  not  acknowledge:  a  deeply  rooted  preju- 
dice in  favor  of  things  that  have  been;  and  a  warmer 
attachment  to  the  land  of  his  fathers  than  is  consistent 
with  the  allegiance  he  owes  to  the  country  which  affords 
him  protection. 

Piomingo.  Are  you  a  democrat? 

Frank.  Fray  to  him  "that  giveth  understanding  to  the 
simple,"  Piomingo,  lest  you  be  "destroyed  for  lack  of 


THE    SAVAGF.  193 

knowledge."  You  resemble  the  enlightened  citizens  of 
this  civilized  country,  who  are  swayed  by  watchwords  and 
names  without  taking  the  trouble  to  enquire  into  the  na- 
ture of  things.  It  has  at  last  become  impossible  to  dis- 
course on  common  occurrences  or  (o  make  those  obser- 
vations which  are  naturally  occasioned  by  circumstances, 
without  causing  some  wiseacre  to  demand:  arc  you  a  de- 
mocrat? are  you  a  federalist?  And  then  if  you  cannot  or 
will  not  say  S/^'6/Wd/i,  death  istoogoo,  Ifor  the  Epi  raimite. 

Piomingo.  I  begyour pardon,  Frank:  1  had  forgotten 
you  were  a ploutocrat.  I  have  a  few  more  questions  to 
ask  concerning  ihe  friends. — The  best  and  wisest  philo- 
sophers of  antiquity  were  remarkable  for  the  plainness 
and  simplicity  of  their  diet:  is  it  so  with   the  quakers? 

Frank,  1  think  not:  no  people  m  existence  love  more 
"to  eat  of  the  fat  and  drink  of  the  sweet,*'  than  tie  chil- 
dren of  Penn.  They  are  truly  learned  in  the  science  of 
eating;  and  make  up  by  thesumptuousness  of  their  feasts 
for  the  absence  of  other  amusements.  Should  Apicius  be 
told  of  the  luxury  of  a  quaker  eutertainment,  lie  would 
repine,  not  without  cause,  at  the  malignity  of  his  fate. 
*  Piomingo.  What  is  the  reason  that  fewer  schisms  hap- 
pen among  the  people  of  this  society  than  among  those 
of  other  denominations? 

Frank.  That  question  cannot  be  answered  without  be- 
stowing at  the  same  time  the  highest  praise  on  the  wis- 
dom of  the  society.  Their  bond  of  union  consists  only 
in  the  practice  of  the  moral  duties  and  certain  external 
observances,  which  are  calculated  to  distinguish  them 
from  the  world.  They  are  not  fettered  down,  like  other 
denominations,  by  iron  doctrines  and  an  adamantine 
creed,  which  they  are  commanded  to  believe  under  per- 
il of  damnation.  They  puzzle  not  their  heads  about 
the  decrees  of  God,  the  freedom  of  the  human  will, 
justification  by  faith,  and  other  knotty  points  in  divinity, 
which  engage  and  distract  the  evangelical  disciples  of 
Luther  and  Calvin.  If  a  man  preach  a  good  moral  dis- 
course, a  quaker  audience  are  satisfied;  whereas  a  pres- 
byterian  congregation  must  know  that  his  principles 
R 


191 


THE    SAVAGE, 


arc  sound,  and  that  there  is  nothing  rotten  in  fundament- 
als, before  they  will  consent  to  be  edified  by  his  labors. 

Piomiugo.  What  do  you  think  of  the  principles  of 
the  Friends,  in  relation  to  war? 

Frank.  However  agreeable  their  opinions,  on  this 
point,  may  he  to  the  doctrines  of  primitive  Christianity, 
they  will  not  suit  the  present  situation  of  ihe  world. 
Could  our  harmh-ss  sheep  grazein  safety  surrounded  by 
timers  and  wolves?  Could  the  little  flock  rise  up  and  lie 
down  in  peace*  while  the  bloodhounds  of  war  are  rang- 
ing the  iiekls  of  creation  ?  There  never  was,  nor  ever  will 
be,  a  nation  of  quakcrs:  they  owe  their  very  existence 
to  the  protection  of  government.  They  will  not  fight 
themselves;  but  liny  have  no  objection  that  the  arm  of 
flesh  should  be  raised  in  their  defence.  Yet  there  is  no 
doubt  they  are  aware  of  their  own  inconsistency  in  this 
particular;  as  no  people  are  more  ready  to  resent  person- 
al insuils.  or  to  defend  their  possessions  from  aggressions 
of  injustice  or  their  houses  from  the  intrusion  of  robbers. 
tf.it  be  right  to  repel  a  personal  or  family  injury,  it  may 
certainly  be  proved,  by  a  parity  of  reasoning,  that  it  is 
equalh  right  to  oppose  those  injuries  which  are  offered 
to  the  community  in  gcncral.and  to  defend  the  great  na- 
tional family  from  insult  and  oppression.  If  we  be  justi- 
fiable in  boiling  our  doors  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of 
thieves,  we  are  likewise  justifiable  in  erecting  forts  for 
the  protection  of  our  harbors.  If  we  be  justifiable  in 
throwing  a  robber  headlong  from  a  window,  who  would 
rob  our  house  and  murder  our  family,  we  are  equally 
justifiable  in  assisting  to  repel  an  invasion  of  our  country. 

Piomingo.  The  Friends  would  probably  say,  that  we 
may  resistifwcdonotendangerthelivesofouropponents. 

Frank.  Is  not  the  life  of  the  robber  endangered,  who 
is  thrown  from  the  window?  may  not  his  skull  be  fractur- 
ed by  the  fall?  No  such  line  of  distinction  can  be  drawn. 
We  are  not  accountable  for  the  consequences  of  a  justi- 
fiable resistence:  that  lies  at  the  door  of  the  aggressor. 
The  thing  i?  too  plain  for  argument.  Nature  has  implant- 
ed in  man  a  principle  of  resentment,  which  directs  him 


THE    SAVAGE.  195 

to  oppose  force  to  force,  and  retort  the  injuries  that  may 
be  inflicted  upon  him:  and  this  principle  is  necessary  for 
self  preservation,  if  it  be  morally  right  to  lift  my  hand 
and  brush  away  a  fly  that  has  settled  on  mv  nose,  it  is 
morally  righttodefend  myself,  my  friend, and  my  country. 

Flamingo,  I  have  understood  that  they  are  not  disposed 
to  contribute  any  thing  towards  the  support  of  an  army. 

Frank.  They  pretend  to  say  that  it  would  be  equally 
as  criminal  to  enable  others  to  light  as  to  fight  them- 
selves; therefore  many  of  them  will  rather  allow  their 
property  to  be  seized  and  sold  for  half  its  value  than  pay 
those  taxes  which  are  laid  for  the  support  of  military- 
arrangements.  But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  these 
evils,  incurred  through  their  own  obstinacy,  arc  imme- 
diately forgotten.  Behold,  are  they  not  written  in  the 
book  of  the  chronicles  of  the  people  called  quakers,  ex- 
hibited at  their  yearly  meetings,  and  preserved  from 
generation  to  generation  as  a  memorial  of  the  sufferings 
of  friends!  I  must  not,  however,  forget  to  mention  that 
many  of  the  more  intelligent  quakers  have  recourse  to 
certain  ingenious  subterfuges  to  prevent  any  losses  of 
magnitude  on  such  occasions. 

Piomingo.  Their  language  is  not  a  little  curious:  I 
have  never  been  able  to  account  for  the  origin  of  so  sin- 
gular a  dialect. 

Frank.  1  believe  1  can  give  you  the  true  cause  of  its 
origin  and  progress:  The  early  quakers,  and  other  pu- 
ritans, a  fleeted  to  be  conscientiously  scrupulous  of  ad- 
dressing a  single  person  with  the  pronoun  plural  "you:" 
It  was  a  species  of  lie  which  they  could  not  reconcile  to 
their  conscience !  They  were  determined  to  use,  even  in 
the  common  occurrences  of  life,  that  solemn  mode  of 
expression  which  had  been  adopted  in  addresses  to  the 
deity,  and  in  the  translation  of  the  bible;  but,  alas!  al- 
though they  were  favored  with  the  illuminations  of  the 
Spirit,  they  were  too  ignorant  to  distinguish  the  nomina- 
tive, from  the  oblique,  case  of  the  pronoun:  "thou"  and 
"thee"  were  there  lore  used  indiscriminately.  Butit  came 
to  pass  in  process  of  time,  that  this  daring  intriguing  in- 


195 


THE    SAVAGE. 


sinuating"thce,'notonlymaintainedhislegiti mate  rights, 
but  ambitiously  usurped  the  dominions  of  his  brother. 
"Thou"  is  totally  discarded:  and  a  man  would  be  accus- 
ed of  affectation  and  pedantry,  even  among  quakcrs, 
who  would  attempt  to  restore  the  disgraced  nominative 
toits  station  in  the  language.  Almighty  custom  has  sanc- 
tioned the  production  of  ignorance;  and  this  unparalleled 
corruption  has  become  the  language  of  friends.  "Hozo 
does  thee  do?  Ifthe^s  cold,  thce'd  better  sit  down  and  zcarfn 
thee-self;  which  is  just  as  absurd  as  to  say  "MSs  zvell,  me's 
cold,  and  meUl  sit  down  and  warm  me-self." 

Piomingo.  If  language  serve  to  convey  our  ideas, it 
answers  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  designed. 

Frank.  Yes:  but  you  must  acknowledge,  Piomingo, 
that  language  has  been  thought  of  sufficient  importance 
to  engage  the  attention  of  the  wisest  philosophers;  and 
since  that  is  the  case,  certainly  the  language,  spoken 
by  a  large  and  very  respectable  society,  merits  a  transient 
consideration. 

Piomingo.  We  will  however  dismiss  that  subject  for 
the  present.  Who  is  that  little  man  whose  attention 
is  distracted  between  smoking  and  talking?  He  cer- 
tainly never  has  heard  of  the  philosopher  who  did  but 
one  thing  at  a  time. 

Frank.  That  is  a  revolutionary  character. 

Piomingo.  Be  more  explicit  Frank,  and  inform  me 
what  is  the  signification  of  this  revolutionary  character. 

Frank.  Why  sir,  the  gentleman  is  forty  or  fifty  years 
old;  and  consequently  must  have  been  alive  somewhere 
during  our  revolutionary  contest.  He  has  been,  he  in- 
forms us,  in  every  important  engagement;  and,  if  we 
credit  his  assertions,  we  must  admit  that  the  successful 
issue  of  the  war  was  principally  owing  to  his  personal 
exertions. 

Piomingo.  Can  we  believe  him? 

Frank.  That  depends  on  the  measure  of  your  faith. 
Many  years  have  passed  away  since  the  close  of  the  war. 
Time  has  involved  the  eventsof  those  days  in  obscurity: 
and  a  man  may  boast,  without  danger  of  detection,  of 


THE    SAVAGE. 


197 


exploits  which  were  never  performed.  Thousands  who 
fought  and  bled  in  the  war  for  independence  are  long 
since  numbered  with  the  dead;  yet  never  were  revolu- 
tionary characters,  as  they  arc  called,  more  numerous 
than  at  the  present  moment.  The  most  of  those  who 
suffered  the  hardships  of  war  and  fought  the  battles  of 
their  country  have  lived  in  penury  and  distress,  and  died 
neglected  and  unknown;  who  then  are  these,  who  ex- 
tol their  personal  prowess  over  a  bowl,  and  exhibit 
their  revolutionary  scars  in  the  taverns  ofPhiladelphia? 
The  heroes  of  independence  resemble  the  heads  of  the 
serpent  of  Lerna:  when  death  cuts  o(F  one,  a  hundred 
spring  up  in  his  place.  Observe  that  smiling  redfaced 
selfconceitcd  animal  who  walks  across  the  floor  with  an 
air  so  important  and  imposing:  that  is  an  Irishman;  and 
an  ignorant  Irishman.  He  has  no  knowledge  of  histo- 
ry; he  is  totally  unacquainted  with  the  affairs  of  his  own 
country;  and  yet^  although  he  has  not  been  six  months 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  he  conceives  himself  fully 
able  to  discuss  our  political  concerns  and  settle  the  af- 
fairs of  the  nation.  There  is  no  office  in  the  United 
States  but  he  has  the  impudence  to  demand;  and  his  de- 
mand, when  he  thinks  proper  to  make  it,  will  be  pro- 
bably successful.  He  will  grow  rich  and  powerful,  and 
fatten  on  the  gifts  of  the  nation,  while  the  children  of  re- 
volutionary heroes  pine  inobscurity  and  want.  It  was  to 
provide  a  country  for  such  fellows  as  this,  that  my  father 
shed  his  blood  in  the  service  of  the  public,  and  reduced 
himself  and  his  family  to  poverty.     Where  is  he  now? 

Cold  is  the  sod  that  covers  his  head; 
And  sound  isthesleep  of  his  tomb) 

his  name  is  forgotten;  his  children  are  unknown;  and 
here  comes  an  ignorant  coxcomb  to  gather  the  fruit  of 
his  labor. 

Piomingo.  Would  you  prohibit  the  ingress  of  for; 
eigncrs? 

Frank.  No:  but  I  should  like  a  little  modesty  in  for- 
eigners. They  might  live  in  peace  and  enjoy  the  pro- 
ducts of  their  industry;  but  I  see  no  necessity  for  their 
R2 


198  THE    SAVAGE. 

becoming  legislators,  or  enjoying  the  emoluments  of 
office,  while  there  are  thousands  of  natives  fully  as  capa- 
ble, and  certainly  as  patriotic,  as  any  insolent  foreigner 
whatever. 

Piomingo.  But  if  a  man  of  genius  fix  his  residence 
among  you,  why  should  his  adopted  country  be  depriv- 
ed of  the  advantages  that  may  be  derived  from  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  talents  in  public  affairs? 

Frank.  There  is  indigenous  genius  enough,  if  it  met 
with  sufficient  encouragement;  but  as  long  as  European 
impudence  bears  every  thing  before  it,  American  geni- 
us must  lie  in  the  shade.  Js  it  not  preposterous  that  a 
man  just  broke  loose  from  the  land  of  slaves  should  pre- 
sume to  regulate  the  affairs  of  a  people  who  are  said  to 
be  free? 

Piomingo.  Should  they  not  enjoy  the  privileges  of 
citizenship? 

Frank,  I  think  not.  Their  children  might  become 
citizens;  but  why  should  men  born  and  educated  in  for- 
eign countries,  influenced  by  extraneous  prejudices, 
and  feeling  an  invincible  attachment  to  the  place  of 
their  birth,  be  admitted  to  rank  with  native  citizens 
who  love  their  country  "they  know  not  why  and  care 
not  wherefore?"  Love  of  country  is  a  prejudice:  know- 
ledge may  destroy  but  cannot  produce  it.  And  as  for- 
eigners never  can  feel  the  operation  of  this  prejudice  in 
favor  of  the  adopted  country,  they  cannot  be  heartily 
and  wholly  attached  to  its  interests.  The  fact  is,  they 
never  become  more  than  half  citizens.  After  they  have 
been  here  thirty  or  forty  years,  you  may  hear  them  ex- 
press their  regard  for  their  dear  native  land,  and  call  it, 
with  affectionate  tenderness, — home.  I  blame  not  this 
amiable  partiality.  I  should  dislike  the  man  who  felt 
it  not;  but  I  contend  that  no  one  can  become  wholly  at- 
tached to  any  other  country  but  that  which  gave  him 
birth.  Piomingo!  can  you  describe  the  place  of  your 
nativity? 

Piomingo,  On  a  gentle  eminence,  near  a  rapid  stream, 
•tood  a  wattled  hut,  overshadowed  by  the  branches  of  a 


THE    SAVAGE.  199 

venerable  oak.  On  the  right  was  the  distant  prospect 
of  an  Indian  village;  on  the  left,  a  narrow  path  wind- 
ing down  the  hill  to  the  banks  of  the  river.  Majestic 
mountains  appeared  at  a  distance. 

Frank.  Piorningo!  do  you  never  repeat,  with  melan- 
choly pleasure, 

En  unquam  patrios  longo  post  tempore  fines, 
Pauperis  et  tuguri  congest  um  cespiteculmen, 
Post  aliquot,  inea  regna  videns,  mirabor  aristas? 

Should  you  return  once  more  after  many  years'  absence 
and  visit  the  Indian  village,  the  swelling  hill,  the  rapid 
stream,  the  winding  path,  the  little  hut,  and  the  vener- 
able oak,  would  they  not  excite  a  thousand  ineffable  feel- 
ings? Can  you  feel  the  same  attachment  to  any  other 
spot  in  the  universe?  Is  not  that  your  country?  Could 
you  forget  the  scene  of  your  infant  joys,  where  you  first 
became  conscious  of  existence,  where  you  spent  your 
happiest  days,  where  the  bones  of  your  fathers  are  bu- 
ried, and  where  your  brethren  dwell — could  you  for- 
get all  these,  and  attach  yourself,  exclusively  to  any 
other  country  and  people? 

Piorningo,  May  not  a  man  have  reason  to  hate  his  peo- 
ple and  the  land  of  his  fathers? 

Frank,  A  man  cannot  hate  his  people  and  the  land 
of  his  fathers:  it  is  impossible.  If  lie  can,  he  is  utterly 
incapable  of  loving  any  other. 

Piorningo,  This  civilized  uproar  fatigues  me.  I  must 
be  going. 

Frank,  Stay  a  moment,  till  I  show  you  another  for- 
eigner. We  have  them  of  all  descriptions.  That  inani- 
mate being  who  sits  by  himself  viewing  every  thing 
round  him  with  sullen  contempt  is  an  Englishman.  He 
has  been  among  us  these  twenty  years,  but  in  all  that 
time  has  found  nothing  on  which  he  could  bestow  the 
slightest  commendation.  There  are  but  four  things  that 
fall  within  the  range  of  his  abilities:  he  can  eat,  drink, 
love,  old  England,  and  hate  every  other  thing.in  existence. 
He  never  can  be  induced  to  taste  any  species  of  food 
which  is  unknown  in  England :  and  of  those  kinds  which 


200  TIIE    SAVAGE. 

are  common  to  both  countries,  that  which  is  produced 
here  is,  he  asserts,  infinitely  inferior  in  quality.  If  you 
show  him  the  choicest  productions  of  the  soil,  he  will 
sometimes  reluctantly  admit  they  may  do,  taking  care  at 
the  same  time  to  add,  they  are  much  better  in  England, 
He  never  has  been  so  fortunate,  since  he  crossed  the 
Atlantic,  as  to  meet  with  a  dinner  properly  prepared: 
and  when  he  returns  to  the  land  of  shopkeepers,  should 
he  ever  return,  he  will  inform  his  countrymen  that  the 
people  of  Pennsylvania  are  anthropophagi  and  blacks. 
Although  he  carries  the  marks  of  stupid  vulgarity  in  his 
countenance,  he  affects  to  despise  the  Americans  as  a 
nation  of  rebels,  convicts  and  savages. 

Piomingo.  Will  he  argue  on  political  subjects? 

Frank.  Argue!  he  argues  as  a  dog  would  argue:  he 
snarls  at  every  thing  round  him.  lie  abuses  our  legis- 
lative assemblies  and  curses  publicly  the  officers  of  gov- 
ernment. 

Piomingo.  It  is  magnanimous  tooverlook  these  things. 

Frank.  I  have  no  opinion  of  such  magnanimity.  Sup- 
pose I  should  go  to  England  and  call  the  virtuous  mem- 
bers of  parliament  robbers  and  villains,and  thesapient 
monarch  a  fool;  what  would  be  theconsequence?  Why 
should  strangers  be  allowed  greater  privileges  amongus, 
than  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  would  be  allowed 
in  foreign  countries? 

Piomingo.  This  is  a  free  country. 

Frank.  A  free  country !  words  withoutmeaning!  And 
because  it  is  a  free  country,  must  we  allow  ourselves  to 
be  abused  and  insulted  by  every  insolent  foreigner  who 
lands  on  our  shores?  Suppose  you  had  a  family,  Pio- 
mingo, and  I,  when  admitted  as  a  visiter,  should  insult 
your  wife,  and  curse  yourself,  the  lord  and  master  of  the 
little  monarchy;  suppose  I  should  ridicule  your  private 
arrangements,  and  laugh  at  your  domestic  establish- 
ment: or  suppose,  I  should  finally  presume  to  take  in 
my  own  hands  the  regulation  of  your  affairs;  would  not 
my  conduct  be  resented? 

Piomingo.  The  lawyers  tell  us,  you  know,  that  a 


THE   SAVAGE.  201 

man's  house  is  his  castle:  I  should  certainly  eject  you 
from  my  citadel. 

Frank.  And  may  not  ourterritories  be  accounted  the 
great  domicil  or  castle  of  the  nation?  Shall  the  many- 
headed  monster  be  bearded  in  his  den?  Shall  one  set  of 
foreigners  ridicule  our  laws  and  regulations,  and  curse 
with  impunity  "the  ruler  of  the  people;1'  while  another, 
out  of  pity  to  our  ignorance,  would  push  us  from  our  seats 
and  take  upon  themselves  the  management  ofour  affairs? 
Upon  my  veracity,  I  know  not  which  most  to  admire — 
the  Irishman's  intrusive  impudence,  the  Englishman's 
haughty  stupidity,  or  the  weakness  and  servility  of  the 
American. 

Piomingo.  Have  you  done? 

Frank.  No:  there  is  another  foreigner  present,  to 
whom  I  wish  to  call  your  attention. 

Piomingo,  What  is  he?  a  Frenchman? 

Frank.  No,  not  a  Frenchman.  What  made  you  put 
the  French  in  my  head?  What  could  I  say  of  a  people 
that  stormed  and  blustered  about  liberty  and  equality 
till  they  set  the  world  in  an  uproar,  and  then  fell  pros- 
trateat  the  feet  of  a  daring  usurper?  I  have  no  patience 
with  the  French.  They  excited  our  hopes,  and  plung- 
ed us  in  despair.  They  have  disappointed  the  philan- 
thropist, brought  disgrace  on  the  cause  of  humanity, 
and  established  for  ages  the  government  of  kings. 

Piomingo,  How  old  are  you,  Frank? 

Frank,  Why  do  you  ask  that  question,  Piomingo? 

Piomingo,  Because  you  appear  to  me  to  be  carried 
away  by  a  frantic  enthusiasm,  which  I  should  not  expect 
to  find  in  a  man  who  had  arrived  at  years  of  maturity: 
at  least,  in  a  man  who  had  made  human  nature  his  stu- 
dy, and  observed  the  passions  and  motives  which  govern 
the  actions  of  men. 

Frank,  O,  I  have  gotten  out  of  my  swaddling  clothes: 
but  1  must  acknowledge  that  in  the  early  period  of  the 
French  revolution,  1  felt  my  full  share  of  the  general  en- 
thusiasm, which  pervaded  the  world,  and  seemed  for  a 
season  to  elevate  human  nature  above  every  mercenary 
consideration. 


232  THE    SAVAGE. 

Plomingo.  Did  you  expect  a  political  millennium? 

Frank*  The  truth  is,  1  not  only  expected  a  political, 
but  a  religious,  millennium.  I  thought  1  saw  in  passing 
events  the  accomplishment  of  prophecies.  I  expected  po- 
litical and  spiritual  regeneration  to  go  hand  in  hand  un- 
til ail  men  should  become  brothers,  and  justice  and  peace 
beestablishod  forever.  I  was  ready  to  exclaim  withVirgii, 

Ultima  Cmiwei  venit  jam  rarminis  irc'as: 
Ma.'nusa'i  inte,fro  seclorum  nascitur  ordo: 
Jam  redit  ct  virgo,  rcdcmtit  Saturnia  reigna: 
J,im  nova  progenies  ca?!o  demittitur alto. 

I  expected  kithe  sun  of  righteousness"  to  rise  upon  the 
earth;  and  the  clouds  of  darkness  superstition  and  preju- 
dice to  be  scattered  by  "the  brightness  of  his  coming." 
I  expected  that  through  the  blessings  of  freedom  and  the 
"outpouring  of  the  Spirit,"  "the  wilderness  would  belike 
Eden,  and  the  desert  like  the  garden  of  the  Lord!"  I 
prayed  without  ceasing  for  the  downfal  of  pagan  idolatry, 
popish  superstition,  and  Jewish  infidelity.  I  read  New- 
ton on  the  prophecies,  studied  the  weeks  and  times  of 
Daniel;  and  meditated  profoundly  on  the  heads,  horns, 
trumpets  and  vials  of  the  Revelation.  J  expected  every 
moment  to  see  the  heavens  opened,  and  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem descending  on  the  earth! — But  the  progress  of  the 
French  revolution  destroyed  these  gay  illusions.  These 
enchanting  hopes  have  "passed  away  as  a  vision  of  the 
night;"  and  tin  b'adzicss of  darkness  has  succeeded.  In- 
stead of  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  enrth,  I  have  nothing 
to  amuse  me  but  this  same  old  dull  wicked  world. 

Phmingo.  I  was  going  to  point  out  the  impossibility 
of  this  great  change  taking  place  in  consequence  of  the 
French  revolution,  and  to  demonstrate  the  folly  of  your 
expectations;  but  as  I  find  that  you  supposed  these  won- 
ders would  be  effected  by  supernatural  means,  my  rea- 
soning would  not  be  so  applicable  to  the  case  as  I  ima- 
gined. You  were  certainly  right  in  calling  in  a  heavenly 
personage  to  act  a  part  in  your  great  and  magnificent 
drama:  nor  can  the  severest  critic  accuse  you  of  trans- 
gressing the  mixim  of  Horace: 

Nee  Deus  intersit,  nisi  dLrnus  vindicc  nodus. 


THE    SAVAGE.  203 

Frank.  However  lightly  you  may  (rent  this  subject, 
Piomingo,  (o  me  it  has  been  a  most  serious  affair.  No- 
thing agitates  the  passions  of  men  with  so  much  violence 
as  religion  and  polities:  and  when  these  two,  at  the  same 
time,  exert  their  influence  upon  a  young  ingenuous  and 
enthusiastic  mind,  the  consequences  are  marvellous. — 
And  when  the  mind,  after  having  been  agitated  and  subli- 
mated by  wild  and  undelinable  emotions,  finds  itself  a- 
inong  the  mire  and  tilth  of  this  sublunary  world — how- 
vapid  and  tasteless  is  existence! — But  here  we  arc:  since 
nature  lias  made  us  but  men,  why  should  we  proudly  and 
arrogantly  aspire  to  be  gods?  Why  should  we,  who  gro- 
vel upon  the  earth,  raise  our  daring  thoughts  to  heaven 
and  soar  beyond  the  bounds  of  creation?  Is  it  not  strange 
that  such  worms  as  we,  should  be  actuated  by  passions 
so  strong,  ambition  so  bold,  and  desires  so  unbounded? 

C(c!um,  ipsuin  pelinius stultitia! 

Piomingo.  Man  is  a  reptile  indeed,  and  may  truly  say, 
with  one  of  your  sacred  writers,  "to  corruption,  thou  art 
my  father;  and  to  the  worm,  thou  art  my  mother  and  my 
sister:"'  but  that  daring  .ambition,  those  ardent  passions, 
boundless  desires,  and  aspiring  hopes,  which  excite  your 
admiration,  may  lead  us  to  look  for  another  scene  of  ex- 
istence, when  man  shall  find  objects  sufficiently  noble 
to  exercise  the  powers  ofiiis  soul,  and  satisfy  his  subli- 
mest  aspirations. 

Frank.  Such  reflections  may  calm  your  philosophic 
mind,  Piomingo;  but  one  who  has  been  taught  to  expect 
certainty  in  these  things  views  your  probaliMits  with  im- 
patience. However,!  must  inform  you  that  1  have  near- 
ly got  rid  of  these  troublesome  speculations,  which,  if  in- 
dulged, would  unlit  a  man  for  the  great  and  important 
concerns  of  this  momentary  life.  1  endeavor  to  suit  my- 
self to  the  station  in  which  nature  has  placed  me,  and  to 
teach  my  mind  to  be  satisfied  with  things  which  are  at- 
tainable. 

Piomingo*  You  endeavor? 

Frank.  I  must  acknowledge  it  is  only  an  endeavor;  for 
I  continually  experience  vexations  in  business,  troubles 


204  THE    SAVAGE. 

with  my  nearest  connexions,  disappointments  in  friend- 
ship; and  become  more  and  more  convinced  of  the  un- 
satisfactory natureof every  enjoyment.  0,forthatapathy 
of  soul,  that  sweet  a$araxia,o{  which  I  have  heard,  which 
forbids  alike  the  approaches  of  pleasure  and  pain,  hope 
and  despair! 

Piomingo.  That  ataraxia  is  only  to  be  gained — 

Frank.  In  the  grave:  "where  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

Piomingo.  So  I  find  you  are  something  of  a  sceptic: 
why  did  you  not  propose  your  doubts,  in  the  beginning, 
to  some  of  your  teachers,  in  order  that  they  might  be 
removed  ? 

Frank.  Sol  did:  I  went  to  our  ghostly  steward,  who 
furnished  us  on  Sundays  with  our  weekly  allowance  of 
spiritual  food,  and  modestly  propounded  certain  queries. 

He  was  astonished  beyond  measure  that  such  a  one 
as  I  should  presume  to  doubtof  any  of  those  things  which 
he  himself  believed.  He  dilated  on  the  heinous  nature 
of  the  sin  of  unbelief,  and  exhorted  me  to  beware  of  the 
temptations  of  Satan.  I  told  him  that  I  was  sincerely- 
desirous  of  believing;  hut  that  my  mind  was  perplexed 
with  doubts,  which  I  was  in  hopes  his  superior  know- 
ledge would  be  able  to  dissipate.  I  protested  that  I 
was  devotedly  attached  to  the  christian  religion;  that 
I  would  not  for  ten  thousand  worlds  behove  it  to  be  a 
fiction;  and  that  I  came  with  genuine  humility,  and  in 
the  simplicity  of  my  heart,  to  ask  information  from  my 
spiritual  instructor.  I  entreated  that  he  would  favor  me 
with  half  an  hour's  conversation;  that  he  would  give  me 
reasons  on  which  to  ground  my  belief;  that  he  would 
hear  my  objections  patiently;  in  fine,  that  he  would  en- 
gage in  a  friendly  and  familiar  discussion  of  those  im- 
portant points  which  I  had  mentioned. 

Piomingo.  Well:  what  reply  did  he  make  to  this  hum- 
ble solicitation? 

Frank.  He  began  a  long  and  violent  declamation, 
something  in  the  manner  of  a  sermon;  he  quoted  innu- 
merable texts  of  scripture,  taking  for  granted,  all  along, 


THE    SAVAGE.  205 

the  very  points  I  wished  to  have  proved;  he  poured 
forth  the  terrors  of  the  law  like  a  torrent:  and  concluded 
with  an  animated  prayer  for  a  hardened  and  unbeliev- 
ing sinner. 

Now  this  might  be  preaching;  but  reasoning  it  could 
not  be  termed,  with  any  propriety:  and,  as  it  was  not 
exactly  preaching  which  I  was  desirous  of  hearing,  I 
ventured  to  suggest  that  I  had  often  heard  these  things 
from  the  pulpit;  and  as  they  had  failed  to  produce  con- 
viction in  my  mind  on  those  occasions,  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  thoy  would  have  a  more  decisive  effect  at 
present. 

"Do,  my  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "consider  me,  for  the  pre- 
sent, as  a  Chinese  or  Hindoo.  What  arguments  would 
you  use  to  convince  such  a  one  of  the  truth  of  the  doc- 
trines you  teach?"  "It  is  the  hardness  and  wickedness  of 
yourabominableheart,"criedhe,"thatoccasionsyour  un- 
belief: I  see  you  are  lost."  "My  heart,"  said  I,  innocent- 
ly, "is  not  wicked."  "You  lie!"  said  he  in  a  fury,  "you  lie, 
you  reprobate!  your  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things, 
and  desperately  wicked.*' 

I  was  a  little  abashed,  as  you  may  well  suppose,  with 
this  last  argument;  however,  after  some  time,  when  I 
saw  he  began  to  grow  cool,  I  ventured  to  rejoin,  "if  I 
know  any  thing  of  my  own  heart" — "You  know  nothing 
of  your  own  heart,  poor  fool!"  said  he,  "you  are  in  the 
gall  of  bitterness  and  bond  of  iniquity." 

As  I  found  that  no  good  would  spring  from  this  con- 
ference, I  began  to  think  of  taking  my  leave;  but,  being 
desirous  to  know  of  what  nature  hisnextargument  would 
be,  I  added,  "When  we  wish  to  establish  any  doctrine" 
— "Let  me  have  none  of  your  philosophy  and  vain  de- 
ceit," said  he,  "I'll  hear  none  of  it.  I  deliver  you  over  to 
Satan  to  buffet  you.  Your  blood  be  on  your  own  head:  I 
have  done  my  duty.  You  will  soon  believe  and  tremble 
like  your  father  the  devil.  I  shake  off  the  dust  of  my 
feet  as  a  testimony  against  you.  I  tell  you  again  and 
again,  that  it  is  the  wicked  malignity  and  enmity  of 
your  heart  against  God,  and  every  thing  that  is  good, 
S 


206  THE    SAVAGE. 

which  occasions  your  unbelief:  you  will  not  believe." 
"If  a  man  be  not  able,"  said  I,  "to  see  the  truth  of  a 
proposition,  he  cannot  believe." 

Enraged  beyond  measure  at  my  pertinacity,  he  sprang 
from  his  chair,  and,  seizing  a  flaming  brand  from  the  fire, 
he  shook  it  in  my  face  exclaiming,  "Believe,  or  you'll  be 
damned,  you  villain!  believe  or  you'' 11  be  damned  I" 

Piomingo.  That  was  cogent  reasoning,  Frank:  did 
you  reply? 

Frank.  No, indeed:  I  scampered  off  as  fast  as  my  feet 
could  carry  me.  I  was  then  about  seventeen  years  of 
age:  if  any  one  were  to  reason  with  me  in  that  manner 
at  present,  I  should  certainly  make  use  of  a  species  of 
argument  that  would  not  be  easily  answered. 

Piomingo.  Had  you  ever  any  further  conversation 
with  this  pattern  of  meekness  and  humility? 

Frank.  No.  I  frequently  went  afterwards  to  hear  him 
preach:  and  whenever  he  saw  me  enter  the  church,  he 
took  occasion  to  denounce  the  judgments  of  the  law  up- 
on a  presumptuous  unbeliever.  I  do  candidly  believe  he 
was  angry  with  the  Lord  for  permitting  me  to  live  upon 
the  earth:  for  I  have  seen  him  turn  up  his  eyes,  with  an 
air  of  angry  expostulation,  and  say  "why  sleeps  thy 
thunder?*'  He  would  frequently  question  his  Maker  con- 
cerning the  propriet}'  of  showing  so  much  lenity  and  in- 
dulgence to  the  dissolute  and  profane.  You  smile,  Pio- 
mingo— May  this  moment  be  my  last,  if  he  would  not 
address  the  creator  of  the  world  with  as  much  ease  and 
confidence  as  I  do  my  barber  or  shoemaker:  and  this 
sanctified  impertinence  or  blasphemous  impudence  he 
dignified  with  the  appellation  of  holy  boldness.  He  would 
threaten  the  Lord — Why  do  you  stare,  Piomingo? — ab- 
solutely threaten  him,  and  tell  him,  in  a  tone  of  defiance, 
that  he  (the  preacher)  would  take  the  kingdom  of  hea- 
ven by  storm.  Nay,  he  would  command  the  deity — I 
»peak  truth,  Piomingo — as  I  command  my  servant;  for 
which  he  said  he  had  scripture — "Command  ye  me." 

Piomingo.  This  was  a  true  member  of  the  church  mil- 
itant.   Such  clergymen,  I  hope,  are  rarely  to  be  found. 


PTIIE    SAVAGE.  207 

Frank.  There  arc  many  such,  among  the  calvinistic 
societies.  He  was  a  celebrated  preacher,  remarkably 
orthodox  and  sound  in  fundamentals. 

Piomingo.  But  how  did  it  happen  that  you  connected 
religion  and  politics  in  the  manner  you  have  mentioned? 

Frank.  Why,  it  has  long  been  a  prevailing  opinion, 
among  various  religious  denominations,  that  those  happy 
times,  which  are  promised  by  the  prophets,  would  com- 
mence about  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century: 
and  we,  who  found  ourselves  within  a  few  years  of  that 
important  period,  confidently  expected  to  see  at  least 
the  morning  of  that  day  when  holiness  to  the  Lord 
should  be  written  on  the  bells  of  the  horses. 

Whenever,  by  pouring  out  the  curses  of  the  law  mixed 
with  a  due  proportion  of  the  soothing  promises  of  the 
gospel,  any  sacred  orator  was  able  to  excite  a  little  sob- 
bing and  whining  and  blubbering  among  his  auditors, 
which  was  termed  "a  shaking  among  the  dry  bones,"  he 
would  immediately  declare  that  the  night  was  past,  and 
that  he  saw  the  appearance  of  day. — While  we  all  stood 
on  tiptoe  in  order  to  perceive  the  first  streaks  of  the 
dawn,  behold!  we  discerned  the  coruscations  of  the 
French  revolution! — A  shout  of  joy  and  exultation  was 
raised  by  the  multitude, 

So  wild,  so  loud,  so  clear, 

E'en  listening  angels  stooped  from  heaven  to  hear! 

The  wondering  mountains, hills  and  rocks  returned  the 
sound;  the  beasts  of  the  field  forgot  to  browse,  and  gazed 
with  astonishment  at  the  madness  of  the  people;  the 
dogs,  in  every  direction,  lifted  up  their  voices  and  joined 
the  melodious  howl  of  their  masters! 

One  company  would  sing,  "The  day  breaks,  and 
the  shadows  (lee  away."  A  second  would  answer,  "Lo! 
the  winter  is  past;  the  rain  is  over  and  gone."  A  third: 
•  "The  (lowers  appear  on  the  earth;  the  time  of  the  sing- 
ing of  birds  is  come."  A  fourth:  "The  voice  of  the  tur- 
tle is  heard  in  our  land."  Then  all  would  unite  in  full 
chorus:  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest;  and  peace  and 
good  will  among  men." 


208  THE    SAVAGE. 

While  we  were  thus  employed,  we  were  astonished 
at  a  bloody  appearance  in  the  eastern  horizon.  What 
could  occasion  this  singular  phenomenon!  The  incident 
was  unexpected,  and  threw  a  damp  on  our  joy.  We 
immediately  had  recourse  to  our  prophetic  books,  and 
without  much  difficulty  discovered  sundry  oracular  in- 
timations of  this  wonderful  event.  For  after  an  event 
had  actually  taken  place,  we  were  extremely  ingenious 
at  adjusting  the  prophecy  t6  the  circumstances;  but 
when  we  attempted,  with.no  other  guide  but  prophecy, 
to  predict  occurrences,  we  sometimes  made  little  blun- 
ders in  our  calculations.  But  alas!  we  were  plunged 
into  utter  despair  when  we  perceived  gloomy  clouds  of 
infidelity,  atheism  and  oppression  to  rise  from  the  earth 
and  destroy  those  faint  glimmerings  of  light  which  had 
ravished  our  senses.  "Behold,  darkness  covered  the 
earth;  and  gross  darkness,  tbe  people!" 

This  dreadful  disappointment  1  owe  to  the  French: 
help  me  to  curse  them. 

Piomingo.  The  French  are  a  gallant  people? 

Frank.  They  are  a  valiant  people. 

Piomingo.  Are  they  not  a  good  people? 

Frank.  They  make  good  slaves,  but  execrable  mas- 
ters: I  would  as  soon  trust  a  madman  with  a  firebrand 
in  a  powder  magazine,  as  Frenchmen  with  the  manage- 
ment of  government. 

Piomingo.  I  am  sorry  for  your  religious  and  political 
disappointment, Frank;  but  1  do  not  account  myself  qual- 
ified to  offer  consolation.  May  I  ask, in  my  turn,ifyouhave 
not  treated  sacred  subjects  with  rather  too  much  levity. 

Frank.  I  have  not:  religion  herself  I  venerate.  But 
if  a  villain  or  a  fool  wrap  his  unhallowed  limbs  in  the 
white  robes  of  the  goddess,  shall  his  wickedness  and 
folly  be  unnoticed?  I  trow  not. 

Professors  of  religion  are  often  ingenious  at  making 
distinctions  where  no  difference  really  exists:  I  wish 
they  would  learn  to  separate  those  things  which  are  not 
very  intimately  connected — their  professions  from  their 
actions;  themselves  from  their  Maker. 


THE    SAVAGE. 


209 


Piomingo.  Were  popular  commotions  again  to  take 
place  in  France,  in  England,  or  in  any  other  country  of 
Europe,  would  you  entertain  any  such  extravagant  ex- 
pectations as  you  did  at  the  commencement  of  the 
French  revolution? 

Frank.  Indeed  I  should  not.  I  understand  a  little  bet- 
ter, than  I  did  in  my  youth,  the  nature  of  the  motives 
thatinfluence  the  actions  of  men.  I  have  paid  some  at- 
tention to  the  passions  and  prejudices  and  follies  of  my 
species.  I  have  studied,  as  much  as  my  situation  in  life 
would  allow,  the  progress  of  society  from  barbarism  to 
refinement;  and  I  have  been  led  to  conclude  that  in 
every  country  where  wealth  is  the  principal  object  of 
pursuit,  the  great  body  of  the  people  must  always  be 
slaves. 

Piomingo.  Why  then  should  the  termination  of  the 
French  revolution  be  mentioned  by  you  in  terms  of  re- 
gret, since  the  people  would  have  been  equally  slaves 
under  a  national  assembly? 

Frank*  Because,  in  a  monarchical  government  there 
is  but  one  freeman,  or,  as  an  ancient  Roman  would  pro- 
bably have  said,  there  is  but  one  man;  but  in  a  govern- 
ment where  the  power  is  divided  among  many,  there 
are  many  who  deserve  the  appellation  of  men. — Because 
the  minds  of  men  are  paralyzed  by  the  iron  rod  of  pow 
er  in  the  hand  of  a  tyrant,  and  sink  into  torpid  stupidi- 
ty; hut  in  a  popular  government,  the  mind  of  every 
man,  who  enjoys  a  portion  of  the  sovereignty,  is  incited 
to  action  by  emulation,  ambition,  and  hope;  and  the  en- 
ergies of  his  soul  are  suffered  to  expand. 

In  order  to  elucidate  this  subject,  I  will  produce  an 
example  in  point:  The  government  of  republican  Rome 
was  extremely  unsettled  and  fluctuating;  there  was  no 
end  to  the  changes  of  its  officers,  regulations,  and  insti- 
tutions; it  vibrated  continually  between  the  hands  of 
the  patrician  and  plebeian  opponents;  yet,  from  this  cha- 
os of  contention  there  arose — heroes,  sages,  gods  upon 
earth !  Now  if  we  contemplate  this  same  people  under 
the  dominion  of  amonarch,  we  see  nothing  but  a  brutal 

SO 


210  THE    SAVAGE. 

tyrant  and  degenerate  slaves.  Who  would  not  rather  buf- 
fet the  waves  in  the  tempestuous  ocean  of  liberty,  than 
rot  in  the  putrid  waters  of  the  dead  sea  of  despotism? 

Piomingo.  I  acknowledge  the  force  of  your  remarks, 
and  willingly  subscribe  to  your  opinion  on  this  subject; 
but  I  cannot  help  observing  that  the  degeneracy  of  the 
Romans  was  not  occasioned  by  the  imperial  government; 
but,  On  the  contrary,  the  imperial  government  owed  its 
existence  to  the  degeneracy  you  have  mentioned.  As 
long  as  the  Romans  preserved  their  national  manners, 
their  virtuous  poverty,  their  profound  veneration  for 
oaths— in  fine,  as  long  as  virtue,  honor,  fame,  patriotism 
were  the  motives  that  impelled  them  to  action;  so  long 
did  the  republican  government  subsist:  but  as  soon  as 
they  had  shaken  off  the  yoke  of  salutary  prejudices,  and 
lost  their  original  simplicity  of  manners;  as  soon  as 
riches  became  the  great  object  of  ambition,  and  the 
wealth  of  Asia  was  poured  into  the  lap  of  Europe — as 
soon  as  these  things  had  taken  place,  the  Romans  be- 
came necessarily  slaves.  When  one  Cesar  was  destroy- 
ed, they  fell  under  the  dominion  of  another,  and  contin- 
ued to  sink  lower  and  lower  in  the  mire  of  moral  turpi- 
tude and  corruption,  till  they  were  overwhelmed  by  the 
proud  energy  of  restless  barbarians.  My  dear  friend, 
when  we  consider  the  poisonous  effects  of  avarice,  and  the 
enervating  influence  of  luxury,  upon  the  manners  of  men, 
we  must  despair,  I  am  afraid,  of  seeing  a  permanent  re- 
publican government  in  any  civilized  nation. — 

Frank.  Unless  heaven  should  send  down  some  migh- 
ty  Lycurgus,  with  the  will  and  the  power  to  raise  and 
educate  a  nation  of  republicans.  — 

Piomingo,  And  your  heaven-sent  Lycurgus  must  take 
away  the  children,  as  soon  as  they  are  born,  from  their 
degenerate  parents,  and  educate  them  in  the  wilderness 
far  from  the  haunts  of  civilized  men. 

Frank.  What!  make  savages  of  them? 

Piomingo.  No:  make  Spartans  of  them. 

Frank.  O,  that  is  the  same  thing:  the  Spartans  were 
ignorant  and  cruel  barbarians. 


THE    SAVAGE.  211 

Piomingo.  Our  modern  Lycurgus  must  instil  into  the 
minds  of  his  young  republicans,  not  the  vices,  but,  the 
virtues  of  the  ancient  Spartans.  He  must  teach  them  to 
love  their  friends  and  their  country,  to  suffer  with  pa- 
tience the  evils  of  life,  and  laugh  at  the  approaches  of 
danger  and  death.  Let  him  improve  upon  the  plan  of 
the  Spartan  lawgiver  by  forming  an  enlightened  and 
civilized  nation-,  but  he  must  take  care  to  prohibit  the 
introduction  of  personal  property.  There  must  be  no 
appropriation  of  things  to  individuals  or  societies:  all 
must  belong  to  the  nation.  Men  must  be  taught  to  dis- 
tinguish themselves  by  something  more  generous  and 
noble  than  the  accumulation  of  riches:  they  must  place 
their  happiness  in  friendship,  love,  honor,  glory,  and  the 
good  of  their  country;  and  not  in  the  indulgence  of  sel- 
iish  and  sordid  propensities. 

But  enough  of  this.  I  have  no  intention  to  turn  Uto- 
pian projector,  unless  I  had  power  to  carry  my  plans 
into  execution. 

Frank.  Suppose  you  and  I  steal  four  or  five  hundred 
ragged  dirty  little  savages  from  the  suburbs  of  Philadel- 
phia, and  establish  a  republic  in  the  wilderness.  The 
parents  will  get  rid  o{  a  troublesome  burthen;  and  we, 
transporting  idea!  shall  immortalize  our  names.  Pio- 
mingo and  Fluent  will  rank  in  after  ages  with  Moses, 
Lycurgus  and  Numa. 

Piomingo.  Did  I  not  tellyou,  Frank,  that  the  children 
must  be  taken  as  soon  as  they  are  born:  before  they  are 
twelve  months  old  they  have  imbibed  half  the  follies  of 
their  parents  and  contracted  a  thousand  civilized  vices. 

Frank.  Nay,  then  we  may  give  up  the  scheme ;  for  how 
should  we  manage  five  hundred  infants  squalling  like 
devils;  unless  indeed,  we  could  have  them  suckled  by 
goats  in  a  cave,  or  by  wolves  in  the  mountains? 

Piomingo.  Frank,  if  you  will  not  walk,  I  must  abso- 
lutely leave  you.  I  came  out  with  the  intention  of  walk- 
ing: instead  of  which  I  have  been  taking  a  lesson  from 
you  in  this  Academy  of  Vice. 

Frank.  I  shall  accompany  you  immediately.     I  wish 


212  THE    SAVAGE. 

you  had  on  your  Muscogulgee  apparel,  that  we  might  as- 
tonish the  natives  by  the  singularity  of  our  appearance. 

Piomingo.  Come,  let  us  go. 

I  am  amazed,  said  Frank,  as  we  came  out  of  the  house, 
how  you  came  to  take  such  a  dislike  to  a  tavern,  which 
is  of  infinite  importance  in  a  civilized  city.  Without 
these  amusements,  which  you  affect  to  despise,  how 
would  the  idlers  while  away  the  tedious  hours  of  insipid 
existence?  How  could  politicians  meet  to  discuss  the 
affairs  of  the  nation  without  the  conveniences  a  tavern 
affords?  Animated  by  the  deity  who  presides  in  these 
temples  the  patriot  is  enabled  to  discover  his  flame;  the 
wise,  to  communicate  instruction  to  the  simple;  and  the 
brave,  to  fight  the  battles  of  his  country.  Pray,  did  you 
never  hear  that  that  man  of  mind,  the  celebrated  John- 
son, declared  a  tavern  to  be  the  throne  of  earthly  felicity? 

Piomingo,  The  Mitrctavern,  and  Turks  head,  I  suppose, 
offered  allurements  superior  to  those  of  the  place  we 
have  left:  yet  if  a  tavern  be  the  greatest  blessing  of  that 
civilized  society,  the  moralist  so  much  admired,  we  can- 
not be  otherwise  than  amazed  at  the  power  of  habit 
over  the  minds  of  the  wisest  of  men.  It  is  not,  however, 
strange  that  a  man,  who  has  no  endearing  domestic  con- 
nexions, should  be  pleased  with  (he  ease  and  freedom 
enjoyed  at  an  inn,  and  the  spirit  of  accommodation  dis- 
played at  a  house  of  public  entertainment:  such  a  man 
(although  there  may  be  many  who  call  themselves  his 
friends)  will  find  himself  as  he  advances  in  life,, a  kind 
of  stranger  on  the  earth,  and  will  feel  inclined  to  ex- 
claim, with  the  amiable  Shenstone, 

Whoe'er  hastravell'd  life's  dull  round, 

Where'er  his  stages  inay  have  been, 
May  sigh  to  think  he  still  hasfound 

The  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn. 

Frank.  A  savage  life  was  the  object  of  Johnson's  un- 
conquerable aversion. 

Piomingo.  Johnson  was  a  lion  in  chains:  his  strong 
mind  was  fettered  by  invincible  prejudices.  If  a  favorite 
subject  lay  immediately  before  him,  he  would  investigate 
it  with  vigor  and  accuracy,  and  lay  open  its  various  and 


THE    SAVAGE.  213 

minute  ramifications;  but  he  could  not,  or would  not,  take 
an  extensive  view  of  the  nature  of  things.  His  education 
had  given  his  mind  a  determinate  direction:  and  he  was 
afraid  to  look  to  the  right  lest  he  should  see  Gog,or  to  the 
left  lest  he  should  sec  Magog.  He  took  but  one  view  of 
an  object:  if  the  first  appearance  left  a  disagreeable  im- 
pression on  his  mind,  he  immediately  pronounced  an  un- 
favorable opinion;  and  never  could  be  induced  to  take 
a  side  view  of  the  same  object,  lest  he  should  be  under 
the  necessity  of  changing  hissentiments.  If  any  doctrine 
ran  contrary  to  his  prejudices,  it  was  never  favored  with 
a  critical  examination,  but  was  rejected  with  the  same 
terror  and  abhorrence  that  a  man  would  oppose  the  ap- 
proaches of  a  rattlesnake  which  evinced  an  inclination 
to  crawl  into  his  bosom.  If  any  one  advanced,  in  his  pre- 
sence, a  heterodox  sentiment,  the  presumptuous  offender 
was  speedily  siienced  by  coarse  language  in  a  thunder- 
ing voice,  and  by  bold  sallies  of  wit,  which,  enforced  by 
the  terrors  o{  his  name,  there  were  none  who  would  ven- 
ture to  withstand.  Such  a  man  was  certainly  liable  to 
mistakes:  and  if  he  fell  into  error,  in  error  he  would 
remain;  for  his  sentence, once  passed,  was  like  the  laws 
of  the  Medes  and  Persians — unchangeable.  What 
were  his  violent  denunciations  against  the  Scots,  against 
sectarians,  against  infidels,  against  the  Americans,  and 
finally,  against  the  advocates  for  savage  life,  but  bursts 
of  passion  dictated  by  inveterate  prejudices? 

The  iniidels,  for  au^htl  know  to  the  contrary,  might 
merit  his  resentment;  the  Scots,  by  their  intrusion  into 
places  of  honor  and  protit  in  England,  might  expose 
themselves  to  his  fury;  the  sectarians,  by  their  opposi- 
tion to  the  dogmata  of  the  church,  might  occasion  ebul- 
litions of  his  zeal;  the  Americans,  by  daring  to  rebel 
against  his  king,  might  provoke  his  loyal  indignation; 
but  the  savages — how  happened  they  to  awaken  his  sore 
<l [.-pleasure,  or  to  merit  the  disgraceful  appellation  of 
brutes?  It  is  probable  that  Johnson  supposed  no  man  to 
be  perfectly  civilized  who  did  not  live  in  London,  fare 
sumptuously  every  day,  and  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  lite- 


214  THE    SAVAGE. 

rary  societ3%  He  appreciated  very  highly  the  pleasures 
of  the  table  and  other  luxurious  enjoyments,  and  seems 
to  have  preferred  the  gross  gratifications  of  sense  to  the 
more  refined  delights  of  the  imagination. 

Frank.  What  is  your  opinion  of  Boswell's  Life  of 
Doctor  Johnson? 

Piomingo.  I  think  it  one  of  the  most  entertaining 
books  in  the  English  language.  Every  thing  that  relates 
to  so  great  a  man  as  Johnson  must  be  highly  interest- 
ing: and  Boswell  exposes  to  our  view  such  an  infinite 
variety  oHittle  things  concerning  this  illustrious  person- 
age, that  the  most  prying  curiosity  finds  entertainment 
and  gratification.  He  produces  so  much  of  Johnson's 
sterling  intelligence,  so  many  interesting  literary  conver- 
sations, interspersed  with  curious  anecdotes,  and  the 
whole  related  in  a  manner  so  amusing,  that  we  cannot 
read  without  receiving  instruction  and  entertainment. 
Yet,  after  having  pronounced  this  eulogy  on  the  work, 
I  must  take  the  liberty  to  add,  that  the  man  who  has 
formed  his  opinion  of  Johnson  from  reading  the  Ram- 
blers and  Idlers  will  find  the  character  of  the  great  mo- 
ralist sink  in  his  estimation  in  consequence  of  the  peru- 
sal of  Boswell's  production. 

Frank.  Although  I  derived  much  pleasure  from  this 
performance,  I  have  often  wished  that  Johnson  had  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  have  repulsed  the  advances  of  the 
creeping,  insinuating,  intriguing  animal  that  afterwards 
became  his  biographer.  The  indefatigable  sycophant, 
taking  advantage  of  the  intimacy  he  enjoyed,  and  proud 
of  the  ascendency  he  had  acquired  over  a  mind  so  much 
superior  to  his  own,  pried  into  every  corner,  searched 
out  every  weakness  and  folly,  and  exposed  the  whole  to 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  without  any  regard  to  the  charac- 
ter of  his  friend; — and  though  we  are  amused  with  the 
fruit  of  his  labor,  we  hate  and  despise  the  creature  who 
contributes  to  our  entertainment. 

Piomingo.  Should  not  a  faithful  biographer  relate 
every  thing  he  knows  concerning  the  man  who  is  the 
subject  of  his  history? 


THE    SAVAGE.  215 

Frank.  He  should  relate  every  circumstance  of  im- 
portance: but  why  should  he  detail  those  little  weak- 
nesses which  arc  rather  a  disgrace  to  human  nature 
than  any  blemish  in  the  character  of  the  individual? — 
What  advantage  can  the  world  derive  from  being  made 
acquainted  with  the  lapses  and  follies  of  men  eminent 
for  their  virtues  and  admired  for  their  talents?  Nay,  I 
believe  the  consequence  may  prove  extremely  unfor- 
tunate: by  lessening  the  veneration  which  was  felt  for 
the  character  of  moral  writers,  it  weakens  the  influence 
of  their  works  upon  society. 

Piomingo.  But  does  notBoswell  discover  great  art  in 
relating  these  trifles  in  a  manner  so  agreeable  as  he  has 
done? 

Frank.  Not  so  much  art  as  you  may  suppose:  he  dis- 
covers a  patient  and  laborious  assiduity  in  having  col- 
lected and  preserved  every  Johnsonic  particle  whether 
clean  or  unclean.  He  discovers,  in  his  own  character, 
a  superabundance  of  folly  and  vanity,  and  (which  is  not 
at  all  inconsistent  with  the  foregoing  qualities)  a  consi- 
derable portion  of  contemptible  cunning.  As  for  art  in 
the  arrangement  of  his  materials,  it  was  totally  unne- 
cessary: every  thing  that  had  any  connexion  with  John- 
son must  afford  entertainment  to  the  public. 

The  notice  that  is  taken  of  the  most  trifling  actions 
of  a  man  celebrated  for  his  talents  is  thus  pleasantly  il- 
lustrated by  an  agreeable  writer:  "Did  you  see  Mr. 
Tope?"  "Yes."  "What  was  he  doing?1'  "Picking  his 
teeth."  Now,  Piomingo,  you  and  I  might  pick  our  teeth 
for  a  month  before  any  one  would  observe  it;  but  John- 
son could  not  change  his  linen,  squeeze  an  orange,  or 
blow  his  nose,  without  Boswell's  making  a  memorandum 
of  the  occurrence  for  the  information  of  posterity. 

My  tables— meet  it  is,  1  set  it  down. 

Why  should  we  be  told  that  Johnson  devoured  his 
food  with  such  voracity  as  to  excite  a  perspiration  in  his 
face,  and  occasion  the  veins  in  his  forehead  to  swell,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  his  delicate  associates?  What 
benefit  is  the  world  to  derive  from  this  disgusting  picture! 


216  THE    SAVAGE. 

It  may  lessen  the  respect  we  felt  for  a  man  who  was  an 
honor  to  his  country;  and  it  may  afford  us  a  momentary 
amusement;  but  we  hate  Bos  well  for  having  noticed  the 
circumstance.  It  was  observed  by  Sir  William  Jones, 
that  the  best  monument  that  could  be  raised  to  a  litera- 
ry man  is  a  good  edition  of  his  works:  and  I  will  ven- 
ture to  add,  that  (whether  we  consider  the  fame  of  the 
author,  or  the  good  of  society)  the  be^t  life  of  Johnson 
would  have  been  a  splendid  edition  of  all  his  works,  ex- 
cept his  political  pamphlets.  In  corroboration  of  what 
I  have  said,  it  may  be  observed  that  Johnson,  in  order 
to  display  his  powers  in  colloquial  controversy,  frequent- 
ly advanced  and  supported  opinions  which  he  ventured 
not  to  inculcate  in  his  writings. 

Piomingo.  Boswell,  certainly,  did  not  suppress  the  foi- 
hies  of  his  hero;  neither  did  he  appear  desirous  of  con- 
cealing his  own. 

Frank.  A  man  is  as  much  to  blame  for  exposing  his 
'own  failings  unnecessarily  as  those  of  another.     There 
are  a  great  many  disagreeable  things  in  human  nature 
which  ought  to  be  carefully  concealed. 

Piomingo.  What!  do  you  dislike  a  man  who  declares 
his  thoughts  openly  and  freely?  do  you  plead  for  dissim- 
ulation and  hypocrisy? 

Frank.  I  am  an  enemy  to  every  species  of  imposition; 
but  I  see  no  necessity  for  exposing  disagreeable  objects, 
when  no  good  can  result  from  this  exposure,  and  when 
no  evil  can  be  the  consequence  of  concealment.  What 
a  fool  that  man  would  be  who  should  proclaimaloudhis 
vain,  wicked, or  childish  thoughts!  Even  your  blunt  and 
impudent  men  conceal  ten  times  more  than  they  make 
known  to  the  world.  Nay,  it  is  a  common  saying,  that 
the  only  difference  between  a  wise  man  and  a  fool  is, 
that  the  former  exercises  a  sound  discretion  in  this 
point;  but  the  latter  turns  indiscriminately  his  thoughts 
into  words. 

Piomingo.  This,  like  many  other  common  sayings,  is 
far  from  correct.  The  wise  man  and  the  fool  are  essen- 
tially different:  the  former  perceives  clearly,  reasons 


THE    SAVAGE.  217 

accurately,  and  judges  soundly;  but  the  latter  is  incapa- 
ble of  these  tilings. 

Frank.  I  mean  not  to  enter  the  lists  in  defence  of  the 
saying;  but  I  contend  that,  should  the  wisest  man  in 
existence  give,  without  reservation,  expression  to  his 
thoughts,  he  would  soon  be  confined  in  a  madhouse. 

Piomingo,  Whenever  any  thing  is  concealed,  there 
is  danger  of  imposition;  because  we  may  be  led  on  by 
a  pleasing  exterior  to  form  connexions  with  an  object, 
in  consequence  of  an  erroneous  estimate  of  its  value,  if 
we  be  not  made  acquainted  with  the  internal,  as  well 
as  the  external,  qualities. 

Frank,  And  if  we  were  acquainted  with  these  inter- 
nal qualities,  you  speak  of,  I  am  afraid  that  every  object 
in  existence  would  be  odious  in  our  sight.  1  express 
my  opinions  more  freely  than  most  men;  and  have  the 
reputation  of  being  "a  plain  blunt  man"  who  "speaks 
right  on" — so  much  so,  that  among  my  neighbors  1  am 
generally  known  by  the  appellation  of  Honest  Frank; 
yet  1  have  a  thousand  foolish  thoughts  and  ridiculous 
notions,  which  I  could   not  be  bribed  to  make  known. 

Nature  has  been  blamed  for  not  having  put  a  window 
in  the  breast  of  man  that  the  secrets  of  his  mind  might 
be  visible;  but  she  has  been  unjustly  blamed.  Since  she 
had   resolved  to  build  a  receptacle   for  "all  manner  of 
creepingthings,"sheacted  wisely  in  concealingtheplace 
of  her  abominations.    Could  we  enter  into  the  recesses 
of  the  minds  of  the  most  virtuous  men,  it  is  probable  that 
we  should  lind  so  much  selfishness,  vanity,  and  folly,  that 
we  should  both  hate  and  despise  those  who  are  at  pre- 
sent the  object  of  our  respect  and  veneration.  Could  we 
become  acquainted  with  the  secret  thoughts  of  our  most 
intimate  friends,  there  is  little  doubt  but  our  love  and  at- 
tachment would  give  place  to  hatred  and  indignation. 
If  there  be  any  truth  in  these  surmises,  a  wise  man  should 
be  content  with  externals,  when  the  exterior  is  pleasing, 
and  not  endeavor  to  pry  into  those  things  which  are  ju- 
diciously concealed  from  his  eyes.     But  a  principle  of 
curiosity  still  prompts  us  to  examine,  as  far  as  we  are 
T 


218  THE    SAVAGE. 

able,  the  secret  workings  of  the  mind,  though  the  disco- 
veries which  we  make  are  productive  of  consequences 
injurious  to  our  happiness  as  individuals,  and  destructive 
of  the  regard  we  should  feel  for  our  species  in  general. 

Piomingo.  And  did  you  ever  ask  yourself  the  reason 
why  you  were  notinclinedtodiscloseyour  thoughts?  Is  not 
this  backwardness  occasioned  by  a  blind  deference  to  the 
maxims  and  customs  of  the  world?  Is  not  this  conceal- 
ment rendered  necessary  by  the  vitious  disposition  of 
mankind?  When  you  are  in  a  crowd,  you  think  it  neces- 
sary to  take  care  of  your  pockets;  when  robberies  are 
frequent,  you  bolt  and  lock  your  doors  that  you  may  rest 
in  security;  and  in  civilized  nations,  you  conceal  your 
thoughts,  because  you  are  surrounded  by  men  who  wait 
to  take  advantage  of  your  weaknesses,and  who  are  ever 
ready  to  usurp  a  dominion  over  your  mind  and  to  become 
masters  of  your  actions  by  bribing  terrifying  or  other- 
wise managing  your  passions  propensities  and  inclina- 
tions. It  is  not  on  account  of  the  wickedness  or  folly  of 
his  own  thoughts  that  a  virtuous  man  thinks  proper  to 
conceal  them,  but  because  experience  has  made  him  ac- 
quainted with  the  malignant  and  ungenerous  disposition 
of  the  world.  And  this  evil  disposition,  which  I  have 
noticed,  is  not  owing  to  any  inherent  depravity,  but  sole- 
ly to  a  vitious  education.  What  else  could  be  expected 
among  a  people  who  are  instructed,  from  their  infancy, 
in  the  practice  of  deception;  who  are  taught  to  wear 
the  semblance  of  virtue  merely  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
cealing the  substance  of  vice;  who  are  taught  to  consider 
life  as  a  struggle  for  preeminence,  and  who,  being  pro- 
hibited the  use  of  open  force,  are  under  the  necessity  of 
having  recourse  to  artifice  and  fraud? 

This  is  not  exaggeration.  The  multiplicity  of  your 
laws  proclaims  the  corruption  of  your  manners  and  your 
attachment  to  vitious  pursuits.  Laws  are  never  enacted 
to  punish  crimes  which  there  is  no  disposition  in  the 
community  to  commit.  If  laws,thcrefore,  forbid  the  com- 
mission of  vice,  it  would  seem  to  follow  that  the  princi- 
pal part  of  education?in  a  civilized  society,  would  consist 


THE    SAVAGE.  219 

in  teaching  youth  how  to  evade  the  spirit  of  the  lawf 
without  Craogrcssinjj  the  Idler. 

I  know  a  person  now,  who  has  often  boasled  in  my 
hearing  of  having  disposed  of  a  horse,  not  worth  twenty 
dollars,  to  an  ignorant  traveller  for  one  hundred  and  fifty. 
This  man  has  never  been  known  to  practise  robbery  or 
theft,  according  to  the  legal  definition  of  those  terms; 
but  he  takes  care  to  enjoy  the  advantages  that  flow  from 
a  perpetration  of  those  crimes  without  incurring  any  of 
those  dangers  which  environ  the  robber  or  the  thief 
who  answers  the  technical  description  of  the  law. 

A  man  would  be  a  fool  indeed  who  would  expose  the 
secrets  of  his  mind  to  civilized  sharpers,  who  lie  continu- 
ally in  wait  to  avail  themselves  of  every  favorable  op- 
portunity that  fortune  may  throw  in  their  way.  Yet  if 
society  were  so  constituted  that  man  did  not  prey  on  man, 
there  would  be  no  necessity  for  the  cautious  conceal- 
ment you  seem  to  recommend. 

Frank,  There  may  be  some  truth  in  jour  observations; 
but  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  men,  with  an  education 
the  most  salutary  that  could  be  devised  (by  all  the  wisdom 
of  all  the  philosophers,  savage  and  civilized)  would  still 
tind  it  necessary  to  conceal  their  feelings  and  their 
thoughts  from  each  other.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  truth 
was  the  cement  of  society;  but,  in  my  opinion,  men  are 
held  together  by  the  means  of  falsehood  and  illusion. 
Could  they  see  each  other,  as  they  arc,  there  would  be 
nothing  but  mutual  abhorrence  and  contention. 

An  ingenious  writer  has  observed  that  "if  our  souls 
had  not  been  united  to  material  substances,  they  would 
still  have  been  capable  of  knowledge,  but  it  is  probable 
they  would  have  loved  whatever  they  knew ;  whereas, in 
the  present  constitution  of  things,  we  scarcely  love  any 
thing  but  that  of  which  we  are  ignorant.'"  All  our  happi- 
ness consists  in  delusive  appearances:  we  search  into  the 
nature  of  things  with  eagerness  and  curiosity;  but  the 
moment  that  any  subject  is  thoroughly  investigated,  we 
are  disgusted  and  unhappy.  The  sentient  principle  and 
reasoning  powers   seem   to  unfit  us   for  the  station  in 


220  THE    SAVAGE. 

which  we  are  placed.  They  enable  us  to  discover  a  thou- 
sand imperfections  in  ourselves,  in  others, and  in  the  my- 
riads of  objects  which  surround  us.  They  prompt  us  to 
enquire  into  the  nature  of  our  pleasures,  and  examine 
the  foundation  of  our  momentary  happiness;  but  our  de- 
lights and  enjoyments  will  not  bear  to  be  analysed:  the 
instant  they  are  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  reason,  the 
vapors  disappear;  and  we  wonder  how  we  came  to  be 
pleased.  You  have  said  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  in- 
herent depravity;  butifthere  be  radical  imperfection  in 
our  nature,  where  is  the  difference?  We  necessarily  fall 
into  error;  and  our  minds  become  the  seats  of  corruption 
and  vice.  When  we  look  inward  upon  this  magazine  of 
faults,  this  workshop  of  iniquity,  we  are  frightened  at 
our  own  depravity,  and  endeavor  carefully  to  conceal  it 
from  the  world, and,  as  much  as  possible,  from  ourselves. 
All  things  are  imperfect  that  fall  within  the  circle  of 
our  observation:  and  if  we  be  not  deceived  by  our  pride, 
we  will  acknowledge  that  man  is  imperfect  as  well  as 
the  rest.  Has  not  nature  dressed  the  surface  of  things 
with  a  profusion  of  embellishments,  and  placed  in  the 
centre  her  repository  of  poisons,  her  seeds  of  corruption 
and  death?  Is  man  an  exception?  Alas!  he  is  not.  How 
often,  during  our  intercourse  with  the  world,  arc  we 
captivated  by  a  pleasing  exterior,  and  afterwards  have 
occasion  to  exclaim, 

O  villain,  villain,  smiling  damned  villain! 

Piomingo.  But  all  men  are  not  villains. 

Frank.  All  men  do  not  deserve  the  appellation  of  vil- 
lains; but  all  have  theirfultsfolliesand  weaknesses,which 
they  very  properly  and  judiciously  conceal.  What  tho' 
I  be  imposed  on  a  dozen  limes  in  my  life  by  specious 
deceivers — is  it  not  much  better  so,  than  it  would  be  if 
I  were  able  to  see,  in  every  one's  countenance,  the  tur- 
pitude and  depravity  of  his  mind? — I  should  find  myself 
surrounded  by  monsters,  and  be  obliged  to  seek  a  re- 
fuge among  the  rocks  of  the  desert.  1  wish  every  man 
to  hide  his  faults  as  ingeniously  aspossible.  Though 
men  have  the  hearts  of  devils,  I  desire   them  to  wear 


THE    SAVAGE.  221 

the  faces  of  angels;  because  their  faces  fall  continually 
under  my  inspection,  but  I  have  very  little  concern  with 
their  hearts. 

Piomingo.  If  I  were  among  devils,  I  should  like  to 
know  it,  that  1  might  be  on  my  guard  againsttheir  wick- 
ed machinations.  Would  to  God,  that  every  face  were, 
as  it  ought  to  be,  a  picture  of  the  mind! 

Frank.  What  species  of  armor  would  you  use  for  your 
defence?  How  wouldyou  protect  yourselfon  every  side, 
at  all  times,  andinall  places?  Must  you  be  for  ever  un- 
easy? If  a  blind  man  were  in  a  dungeon  among «erpent6, 
and  it  were  impossible  to  extricate  him  from  his  peril- 
ous situation,  would  it  not  be  cruel  to  inform  him  of  his 
danger?  We  are  placed  upon  the  earth,  and  necessarily 
connected  with  men;  is  it  not  much  better  that  we  should 
remain  ignorant  of  the  wickedness  and  malignity  of  our 
associates? 

An  agreeable  face  conceals  a  vitious  mind  in  the  same 
manner  that  dress  hides  the  deformities  and  diseases  of 
the  body.  When  we  walk  in  the  streets  and  press  through 
the  market,  every  one  we  see  makes  a  tolerable  appear- 
ance; but  were  it  not  for  dress  which  envelops  the  bo- 
dies of  the  multitude,  we  should  be  continunlly  shocked 
with  distorted  shapes,  "wounds,  bruises,  and  putrefying 
sores."  Let  us  therefore  be  thankful  to  the  vestments 
which  cover  these  deformities  of  the  body;  and  let  us  bft 
pleased  with  a  smiling  face  that  hides  from  our  view  the 
diseases  of  the  mind. 

I  mentioned  before, that  ourinqu'sitive  disposition  and 
our  propensity  to  reason  on  every  subject  have  an  imme- 
diate tendency  to  render  us  unhappy.  This  opinion  I  will 
endeavor  to  illustrate  by  a  sublime  comparison,  and  thep 
I  shall  have  done:  "If  the  sun  breed  magots"  (why  do 
you  laugh?  the  language  is  ShakspeareY)  *If  the  sun 
breed  magots  in  a  dead  dog,"  these  magots  are  uncon- 
scious of  the  tilth  and  abomination  in  which  they  are  im- 
mersed; they  have  no  idea  of  any  state  superior  to  their 
own,  nor  of  any  happiness  greater  than  that  which  they 
enjoy;  consequently  they  cannot  be  miserable.  But  man 
T2 


32*2  THE    SAVAGE. 

is  cursed  with  the  ability  of  perceiving  his  degraded  situ- 
ation; he  is  able  to  form  ideas  of  perfection  to  which  he 
can  never  attain ;  he  feels  an  inclination  to  aspire ;  he  de- 
spises the  earth  which  gave  him  birth,  and  would  ascend 
to  the  mansion  of  the  gods;  he  would  subject  the  universe 
to  his  empire,  and  partake  of  delights  too  sublime  for  his 
nature — in  consequence  of  which,  he  is  miserable.  Up- 
on the  whole  I  conclude  that  such  an  animal  as  man 
should  hot  have  been  endowed  with  perception  so  acute, 
and  with  desires  so  aspiring — Diis  alitcr  visum  est. 

Piomingo.  You  and  jour  furious  Instructor  may  prate 
aboutthe  wickedness  of  the  heart  as  long  as  you  please; 
but  every  one  must  admit  that  no  one  is  wicked  before 
the  commencement  of  his  existence.  And  as  soon  as  he 
exists  he  becomes  wax  in  the  hands  of  society.  His  infant 
mind  takes  the  color  of  surrounding  objects:  by  educa- 
tion he  is  exalted  to  a  god;  by  education  he  is  converted 
to  a  devil;  or,  by  education  he  is  degraded  to  a  brute. 

By  the  customs  and  institutions  of  society,  by  the  pre- 
cepts and  examples  of  seniors  and  guardians,  he  becomes 
initiated  in  wickedness;  and,  as  advancement  and  pros- 
perity in  life  depend  upon  the  exercise  of  dissimulation 
and  cunning,  he  conceals  his  vitious  thoughts  till  they  ri- 
pen into  crimes.  Were  the  mind  first  subjected  to  salutary 
impressions,  were  the  circumstances  which  influence 
its  earliest  decisions  favorable  to  the  production  of  virtue, 
there  would  be  no  necessity  for  concealment;  and  the 
workshop  of  iniquity,  which  terrifies  your  mind,  would 
never  be  erected. 

You  unfortunately  attempted  to  enforce  your  senti- 
ments by  a  reference  to  dress.  Did  it  not  occur  to  you 
that  your  civilized  institutions  have  produced  the  dis- 
eases and  deformities  of  the  body  as  well  as  the  errors 
and  vices  of  the  mind?  Did  you  not  reflect  upon  the  per- 
nicious consequences  of  continual  labor  and  brutelike 
drudgery? — They  have  degraded  the  proudest  work  of 
nature  to  a  beast  of  burden ;  they  have  extinguished  the 
ethereal  spark  in  his  breast,  and  infused  into  his  soul  the 
malignity  of  a  demon.  Did  you  also  forget  to  consider 


THE    SAVAGE.  2*23 

the  eviis  produced  by  intemperance,  luxury  and  sloth! 
Ala*!  it  is  too  true:  You  need  clothing  to  hide  your  dis- 
eased, distorted  bodies,  and  tig  leaves  to  conceal  your 
distempered  minds.  But  savages  can  dispense  with  gar- 
ments to  shroud  their  straight  and  well  turned  limbs, 
and  with  deceitful  smiles  to  veil  their  ingenuous  hearts. 

Frank.  Well,  I  see  we  should  never  agree  on  this  sub- 
ject, if  you  be  disposed  to  ramble  farther,  you  may  con- 
tinueyour  excursion  alone.  It  isa  folly  to  walk  without  an 
object  in  summer;  but  the  man  who  will  leave  a  warm  tire 
in  the  winter,  unless  compelled  by  necessity, and  expose 
himself  to  the  blasts  of  the  north,  must  be  wholly  insane. 

Piomingo.  Your  will  is  my  guide; — but  Frank,  who 
was  that  other  foreigner  to  whom  you  were  disposed  to 
direct   my  attention? 

Frank.  Ah,  truly,  I  had  totally  forgotten.  For  some 
months  past  we  have  witnessed  a  prodigy:  From  the 
depths  of  the  wilderness,  cautibus  horrens ;  from  amid  the 
howling  wild  beasts  of  the  desert;  from  the  bosom  of 
one  of  those  barbarous  hords  which  infest  our  frontiers, 
there  has  issued — ye  will  not  believe  it,  posterity! — 
there  has  issued  a  savage, — 

Quale  portentum  neque  militant 
Daunia  in  latis  aiit  esculetis, 
Nee  Juljfc  tellus  generat.Ieonum 
Arida  nutrix! — 

A  savage,  whopresumes  to  instruct  the  illuminated,  the 
wise,the  polished,  the  civilized,  inhabitants  of  these  free 
sovereign  and  independent  states,  which  are,  I  say,  and 
of  right  ought  to  be,  free  sovereign  and  independent 
states, — who,  (the  savage  I  mean)  not  having  the  fear 
of  God  before  his  eyes,  nor  reverencing  the  majesty  of 
the  American  people,  but  being  moved  thereto  by  the 
instigation  of  the  devil,  hath,daringly  knowingly  wick- 
edly maliciously  malignantly  enviously  feloniously  insi- 
diously burglariously  barbarously  savagely  and  of  malice 
aforethought,  presumed  to  instruct  this  wonduerful peo- 
ple, this  nation  of  kings,  in  the  science  of  morals!  Give 
ear,  O  heavens! — 

Piomingo.  What  do  you  mean? 


221  THE    SAVAGE. 

Frank.  Do  not,  I  beseech  the.  do  not  interrupt  me. — 
Give  ear,  O  heavens!  hearken,  O  earth! — 

Piomingo.  What  do  you  mean? 

Frank.  These  are  savage  interruptions,  Piomingo. 
You  have  ruined  a  sublime  apostrophe; you  have  snap- 
ped asunder  the  chain  of  my  ideas;  you  have  extin- 
guished my  poetical  enthusiasm;  and  now  1  must  pro- 
ceed to  give  you  a  dull  prosaic  detail  of  circumstances. 

Piomingo.  Be  as  prosaic  asyou  please,  but  not  tedious. 

Fmnk.  This  savage, of  whom]  spake, having  thrown 
aside  his  tomahawk,  scalping  knife,  and  rifle, — having 
devested  himself  of  his  wampum,  breechclout,  blanket, 
moccasons.and  leggins — having  laid  aside  his  buck's  tail 
and  feathers,  ear  rings  and  nose  jewels,  half  moons  and 
bracelets,  beads  brochesand  gewgaws — having  washed 
the  paint  from  his  visage  and  taken  up  the  pen.  produces 
a  weekly  phi lj. pic  against  I  he  blessings  and  delights  of 
a  civilized  life — but,  as  your  barbarous  countenance  is 
a  picture  of  your  mind,  that  mind,l  see,  is  considerably 
agitated.  1  fear  it  will  not  be  safe  to  favor  you  with  my 
opinions  on  the  conduct  of  this  savage;  butl  will, if  you 
please,  give  you  the  sentiments  of  others. 

Piomingo.  Do  so. 

Frank.  Well  then,  they  say  (by  they  you  are  to  under- 
stand every  body,  any  body,  nobody,  the  wise,  the  fool- 
ish, the  world,  or  any  thing  you  choose)  they  say — hut  I 
forgot  to  premise  (which  would  have  been  a  very  capi- 
tal omission)  I  forgot  to  premise — 

Piomingo.  Frank!  your  parentheses  distract  me!  By 
themingo  of  the  skies, \£  you  proceed  with  your  cursed  in- 
volutions— 

Frank.  Enough,  enough,  Piomingo.  Do  not  raise  the 
warhoop,  lentreatyou.  1  shall  proceed  straight  forward 
with  my  story. 

They  say,  that  this  savage,  having  seen  our  flourishing 
cities  and  beautiful  fields,  having  witnessed  the  state  of 
our  agriculture,  commerce  and  manufactures,  and  all  the 
pleasures  that  flow  from  our  salutary  institutions,  and 
having  contrasted   these  blessings  with  the  miserable 


THE    SAVAGE.  225 

enjoyments  of  the  naked  half  starved,  shivering  Indians, 
he  fell  the  sap  j  envious  malignity  in  his  breast  which 
Satan  is  said  to  have  felt  when  he  contemplated  the 
happiness  and  innocence  of  our  parents  in  paradise;  and 
he  resolved,  in  imitation  of  the  illustrious  personage  just 
mentioned,  to  disturb  that  felicity,  which  he  and  his 
brethren  were  not  destined  to  enjoy. 

Piomingo.  What,  to  introduce  Sin  and  Death  among 
the  happy  and  virtuous  in  habitants  of  thecivilized  world? 
Would  to  God,  that  the  arts  and  refinements,  the  vices 
and  diseases,  of  the  children  of  Europe  had  remained 
forever  unknown  to  the  savages  you  despise!  Reverse 
the  picture;  and  the  representation  will  not  be  wholly 
destitute  of  (ruth.     But  proceed. 

Frank.  They  say,  that  this  savage  resembles  the  fox 
in  the  fable;  who,  finding  himself  unfortunately  desti- 
tute of  a  tail,  endeavored  to  persuade  the  community  of 
foxes  that  tails  were  a  useless  incumbrance.  Now  this 
savage  being  a  barbarian  probably  indigent — 

Piomingo,  You  may  dispense  with  the  application, 
and  proceed  with  your  intelligence. 

Frank.  Thny  say,  that  your  publication  (for  thou  art  the 
man)  is  a  dull  and  insipid  production;  but  that  among  a 
great  deal  of  rubbish  there  may  sometimes  be  found  a 
sparkling  idea.  Now  as  they  have  always  conceived  it 
impossible  for  a  savage  to  think,  they  find  themselves 
wholly  unable  to  account  for  the  thoughts  that  are  scat- 
tered through  your  writings.  For  a  savage  whose  brain, 
or  whose  mind;  [sntybula  rasa — for  a  savage,  whose  brutal 
instinct  merely  enables  him  to  ramble  over  mountains  or 
creep  through  the  thickets,  to  manage  a  canoe  wit  had  roit- 
nessor  take  off  a  scalp  with  dexterity — for  such  a  one 
to  think,  reflect,  compare,  is  altogether  unaccountable! 

Can  he  he  fashioned  on  the  social  plan, 
Or  hoasi  a  lineage  with  the  race  of  man? 

These  considerations  have  induced  them  to  suppose  that 

the  account  you  have  given  of  yourself  is  fictitious:  some 

have  even  proceeded  so  far  as  to  say  you  are  civilized. 

Piomingo.  Who  said  that?  My  savage  honesty  of  soul 


226  THE    SAVAGE. 

no  man  shall  dispute  with  impunity.  I  will  immediately4 
have  recourse  to  the  law.  An  action  will  certainly  lief 

Frank.  I  think  not. 

Piomingo.  So,  it  seems  your  laws  deny  me  the  privi- 
lege of  avenging  myself  on  my  enemies,  yet  point  out  no 
other  mode  of  redress.  Is  that  liberty? 

Frank.  Let  me  consider;  The  words  are  not  action- 
able pzr  se.  It  may  be  damnum;  but  then  would  be  dam- 
num absque  injuria.  Prove  special  damage — action  per 
quod.  Provocation — tends  to  a  breach — contra  pacem. 
Libellous — let  me  see — not  true — so  much  the  worse. 
No  hook  to  hang  a  quirk  on.  Headman  and  warrior  of 
the  Muscogulgee  nation — scandalum  magnatum.  To  say 
of  a  lord — Cro.  Car.  Cro.  Jac.  Tom.  tit.  quint.  Eliz. 

Piomingo.  What  is  that? 

Frank.  Wisdom,  Piomingo, profound  wisdom;  but  as 
you  are  a  barbarian,  you  cannot  understand  it. — It  is 
said  that  you  arc  an  aristocrat. 

Piomingo.  So  I  am:  who  would  not  rather  be  governed 
by  the  best  than  by  the rborst  of  the  community?  But  I  am 
an  enemy  to  hereditary  aristocracy,  and  still  more  op- 
posed to  the  aristocracy  of  wealth:  I  wish  virtue,  talents 
and  wisdom  to  assume  their  proper  place  in  society. 

Frank.  It  is  sometimes  said,  you  are  a  democrat  and 
leveller. 

Piomingo.  I  am  a  friend  to  the  people:  may  they  "get 
wisdom  and  seek  understanding."  May  they  learn  to 
think  fur  themselves,  and  no  longer  be  swayed  by  the 
influence  of  the  wealthy,  or  governed  by  the  cunning 
of  political  intriguers. 

Frank.  They  say  you  are  an  atheist  and  a  deist. 

Piomingo.  Curious  enough!  I  would  not  fall  down  to 
wrorship  the  golden  image  which  civilized  society  has  set 
up,  though  my  disobedience  should  cast  me  in  the.  fur- 
nace of  adversity  heated  seven  times  as  hot  as  ever  I 
have  found  it. 

Frank.  They  say  you  are  a  fool. 

Piomingo.  Folly,  1  believe  is  not  peculiar  to  me; 

. ' et  mini  dulees 

Igncscp.nt,  si  quid  peceavero  stultne,  ainici: 
luque  vicem,  illorum  patiar  delictn  litenier. 


THE    SAVAGE.  227 

Frank.  The  profound  and  sagacious  editor  of  a  politi- 
cal and  literary  journal  has  treated  your  Savage  with 
rudeness  and  severity;  and,  as  you  have  taken  no  notice 
of  this  caustic  and  witty  production,  it  is  supposed  that 
you  are  unable  to  answer  it. 

Piomingo.  The  Frenchman  and  his  criticism  are 
equally  unworthy  of  attention. 

Frank,  Do  you  deal  in  proverbs? 

Piomingo,  Not  much.  Savage  as  I  am,  I  bow  to  the 
opinion  ol  lord  Chesterfield  concerning  the  use  of  vulgar 
English  proverbs;  but  as  I  have  in  my  possession  a  collec- 
tion, I  believe  I  will  till  a  few  pages  of  the  Savage  with 
them  occasionally:  they  are  equal  to  the  best  of  poor 
Richard's  and  excel  the  wisest  apophthegms  of  Spain. 

Frank.  Very  right:  and  sprinkle  your  pages  hereafter 
with  Greek.  We  always  love  what  we  do  not  under- 
stand. The  hour  of  dinner  approaches.  May  the  mingo 
of  the  clouds  protect  you  from  evil! 

Piomingo.  May  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness  be 
propitious  to  your  prayeis! 


PRONUNCIATION:  FROM  CRITO. 

Doctor  Johnson,  with  his  usual  good  sense,  has  re- 
marked, thai  "most  writers  of  English  grammar  have 
given  long  tables  of  words  pronounced  otherwise  than 
they  are  written;  and  seem  not  sufficiently  to  have  con- 
sidered, that,  of  English,  as  of  all  living  tongues,  there 
is  a  double  pronunciation:  one  cursory  and  colloquial; 
the  other  regular  and  solemn.  The  cursory  pronuncia- 
tion is  always  vague  and  uncertain,  being  made  differ- 
ent, in  dilferent  months,  by  negligence,  unskilfulness,  or 
affectation.  The  solemn  pronunciation,  though  by  no 
means  immutable  and  permanent,  is  yet  always  less  re- 
mote from  the  orthography,  and  less  liable  to  capricious 
innovation.  They  have,  however,  generally  formed 
their  tables  according  to  the  cursory  speech  of  those 
with  whom  they  happen  to  converse,  and,  concluding 
that  the  whole  nation  combines  to  vitiate  language  in 
one  manner,  have  often  established  the  jargon  of  the 


228  THE     SAVAGE. 

lowest  of  the  people  as  the  model  of  speech.  For  pro- 
nunciation, the  best  general  rule  is,  to  consider  those 
as  the  most  elegant  speakers  who  deviate  leasl  trom  the 
written  words." 

Some  have  been  inclined  to  dispute  the  justice  of 
these  observations;  but,  to  me,  they  appear  correct  and 
judicious.  There  are  so  many  capricious  varieties  in 
the  current  pronunciation  of  a  living  language,  that  an 
attempt  to  establish  a  uniform  standard  of  orthoepy  by 
any  one  man's  ideas  of  propriety,  must  be  regarded  as 
a  hopeless  undertaking.  One  pronunciation  prevails 
at  the  theatre;  another  is  sanctioned  by  the  gentlemen 
of  the.  bar;  and  a  third  is  favored  by  divines.  The 
south  and  the  north,  the  east  and  the  west,  have  their 
respective  peculiarities  of  sound:  and  all  these  unfor- 
tunate localities  have  their  advocates  and  defenders. 
Among  these  conflicting  claims,  what  better  plan  can 
we  pursue  than  to  lay  it  down  as  the  golden  rule  in  pro- 
nunciation, that  the  most  elegant  speakers  are  those  who 
deviate  least  from  the  zvritten  words. 

Multitudes  of  spelling  books  and  grammars  have  ap- 
peared in  the  United  States;  and  in  the  most,  if  not  ail 
of  these,  are  exhibited  long  tables  of  words  spelled  in 
one  manner,  and  directed  to  be  pronounced  in  another. 
Sometimes  a  letter  is  said  to  be  silent,  when  it  might 
with  the  utmost  propriety  be  sounded;  again,  we  are 
gravely  informed  that  one  letter  usurps  the  power  of 
another,  when  we  can  see  no  reason  why  it  is  not  con- 
tent with  its  own.  Some  words,  though  they  have  long 
since  become  a  part  of  our  language,  are  said  to  be 
French:  and  we  are  obliged  to  torture  our  organs  for  the 
sake  of  producingan  outlandish, guttural  or  nasal  twang; 
which  being  found  utterly  impracticable,  we  generate  a 
word  which  is  neither  English  nor  French,  but  a  ridicu- 
lous fabrication  of  our  own.  What  contemptible  servili- 
ty is  this!  Must  there  be  a  numerous  class  of  words 
which  the  great  body  of  the  people,  who  understand  no 
language  but  their  own  are  utterly  unable  to  pronounce? 
Why  should  aid-de-camp,  envelope,  environs,  connoisseur^ 


THE    SAVAGE.  229 

instead  of  being  pronounced  agreeably  lo  the  powers  of 
the  letters  in  Ihe  English  language,  be  converted  into 
adede  caivng,  ongvriopc,  on$veerons,  connossare,  which 
are  neither  French,  English,  nor  good  high  Dutch? 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  thai  since  the  appearance  of 
orthoepical  dictionaries,  the  solemn  pronunciation,  no- 
ticed by  Johnson,  hasgreatly  declined:  however  solemn 
the  style,  however  important  the  subject,  the  polite  orator 
has  adopted  the  flippant  and  cursory  pronunciation;  and 
minces  and  aspirates  agreeably  to  the.  directions  of  Slieri* 
dan  and  Walker.  How  long  will  our  lawyers,  du  ines,and 
legislating  orators,  who  boast  so  much  of  their  indepen- 
dence, regulate  their  pronunciation  according  to  the  ca- 
prices of  the  vulgar,  great  and  small,  of  the  city  of 'Lon- 
don? Our  universities,  colleges,  and  public  speakers, 
should  appoint  agents  to  reside  continually  in  the  metrop- 
olis of  the  British  empire  for  the  purpose  of  transmitting 
without  delay,  to  the  wilds  of  America,  the  polite  and 
fashionable  modes  of  torturing  words  practised  by  game- 
sters, fops  and  fools  at  the  head  quarters  of  refinement 
and  corruption. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  ridiculous  affectation  of  our 
fashionable  speakers,  »t  may  still  be  observed  that  when 
the  emphasis  is  placed  on  a  word  the  unaccented  vowels 
receive  a  sound  different  from  that  which  they  have  when 
the  word  is  not  emphatical:  how  is  this  variation  to  be  no- 
ted by  the  modest  orthoepist,  who  would  regulate  our 
pronunciation  by  that  of  the  circle  in  which  he  has  moved? 

Mr.  Walker  appears  to  have  been  so  sensible  of  the 
difficulties  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken,  that  he  can- 
didly acknowledges  "the  imperceptible  glances  of  col- 
loquial pronunciation  are  not  lo  be  caught  and  described 
by  the  pen;''  but  he  pleases  himself  with  the  reflection, 
thai,  if  "he  cannot  point  out  the  precise  sound  of  unac- 
cented syllables,  he  may  at  least  give  those  sounds  which 
approach  the  nearest,  and  by  this  means  become  a  little 
more  useful  than  those  who  so  liberally  leave  every  thing 
to  the  ear  and  taste  of  the  speaker."  Now  1  should  con- 
ceive that  an  erroneous  guide  is  worse  than  no  guide  at 
U 


230  THE  SAVAGE. 

all:  we  may  as   well  preserve  our  original  errors  as  to 
discard  them  for  the  purpose  of  adopting  others. 

But  even  admitting  the  possibility  of  conveying  to  the 
eye  those  delicate  tones  and  evanescent  sounds  which  are 
perceptible  by  the  ear,  whom  shall  we  lake  as  our  guide? 
There  are  not  only  many  hundred  incidental  differences; 
but  whole  classes  of  words  are  subjected  to  the  various 
rules  of  our  standard  writers.  One  author  informs  us  that 
the  final  y  in  wisely,  justly,  nobly,  truly,  and  all  words  of 
that  description,  has  the  sound  of  long  e,  as  in  me;  others 
give  it  the  sound  of  a  in  face;  and  others,  again,  acknowl- 
edge that  it  has  an-obscure  sound  of  its  own.  We  are 
told  by  some  that  the  e  in  me,  and  the  i  in  mill,  have  pre- 
cisely the  same  sound;  others  contend  that  they  are 
widely  different.  Doctor  Ash  informs  us  that  the  c  in  the, 
hero,  rebuild,  adhesion,  &e.  has  a  sound  peculiar  to  it- 
self; but  quite  distinct  from  the  e  in  thee,  me,  &c.  Others 
assert  that  this  is  the  height  of  absurdity.    But, 

Quirquid  dciirant  regcs  plcctuntur  Acliivf: 

While  the  leaders  contend  for  superiority,  we   are  led 
astray  by  their  errors. 

1  know  a  young  man  who  was  particularly  attentive  io 
pronunciation:  on  every  doubtful  occasion,  he  had  imme- 
diate recourse  to  the  dictionary  that  happened  to  be  in 
vogue;  and  having  discovered  an  odd  or  curious  pronun- 
ciation, he  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and  took  care  to  intro- 
duce the  word  into  every  conversation.  But  by  the  time 
he  had  made  himself  perfectly  familiar  with  his  favorite 
sound,  behold!  another  dictionary  appeared,  more  fash- 
ionable, more  orthodox,  than  the  last;  and  infinitely  supe- 
rior to  every  other  in  existence.  He  now  found  it  necessa- 
ry to  change  a  pronuciation  which  had  become  habitual, 
and  learn  anew  the  pronunciation  of  his  fathers,  or  ac- 
quire, with  no  little  pains,  one  totally  different  from  both. 
He  informed  me  that  he  changed  the  sound  of  the  o  in  bo- 
som four  several  times  in  compliance  with  the  precepts 
of  different  orthoepists:  and,  at  last,  after  having  sailed 
round  the  world  of  changes,  he  found  himself  at  the  place 
whence  he  started.  From  his  nurse  he  learned  to  say  bo- 


THE   SAVAGE.  231 

zom\  from  his  schoolmaster,  buzzum\  from  Sheridan,  boo- 
zum,  sounding  the  oo  asw  \\\full\  from  Walker,  boozum, 
sounding  the  oo  as  in  /oo;  and,  finally,  a  profound  critic 
convinced  him  the  first  pronunciation  was  the  best. 

One  great  objection  to  most  of  our  pronouncing  dic- 
tionaries is  the  horrible  manner  in  which  they  deform  the 
orthography  of  the  language.  It  is  found  to  be  a  matter  of 
ix)  little  difficulty  to  acquire  the  art  of  spelling  with  pro- 
priety. I  do  not  believe  that  one  person  in  a  hundred  can 
write  twenty  lines  without  misspelling  some  of  the  words. 
And  if,  before  the  appearace  of  pronouncing  dictionaries, 
it  was  so  hard  to  attain  a  competent  knowledge  of  ortho- 
graphy, how  much  more  difficult  will  it  prove  when  wc 
cannot  open  a  dictionary  without  encountering  those 
horrible  clusters  of  consonants,  which  orthoepists  have 
collected  together  for  the  sake  of  perpetuating  sounds. 
Thus  it  has  happened  that  these  erudite  productions  have 
not  only  unsettled  our  pronunciation,  but  have  given  our 
language  a  barbarous  appearance,  and  rendered  it  more 
difficult  than  ever  for  our  children  to  become  acquainted 
with  orthography. 

I  would  not  have  it  thought  that  I  am  opposed  to  all 
dictionaries  designed  as  helps  in  pronunciation:  these  may 
be  useful  in  regulating  the  accentuation  of  words,  arnd 
displaying  the  analogies  of  language.  I  will  even  admit 
that  it  may  be  desirable,  in  a  work  of  this  nature,  to  have 
some  ingenious  system  of  notation,  for  the  purpose  of 
showing  the  tone  and  quantity  of  the  vowels;  but  1  will 
boldly  pronounce  that  the  practice  of  deforming  the  or- 
thography has  been,  and  will  continue  to  be,  productive 
of  consequences  pernicious  to  the  purity  of  language. 
I  would  rather,  Piomingo,  encounter  a  file  of  your  coun- 
trymen among  the  Alleganian  mountains,  than  be  stared 
in  the  face  by  words  so  tremendous,  so  horrible,  astshoo- 
turidzh,  tskootclidzli,  tshoonable,  tshoomult,  ungthoous, 
spirittshoous,  nattshooraU  Yet  these  monstra  vocabulorum 
horrenda  are  not  half  as  barbarous  as  some  that  may  be 
found  in  Sheridan  and  YValker. —  Would  anyone  suppose 
these  congregations  of  letters  were  desingned  to  instruct 


232  THE    SAVAGE. 

us  in  1  lie  pronunciation  of  tutorage,  tutelage,  tunable,  tu- 
mult, unctuous,  spirituous,  natural?  Yet  such  is  the  fact 
We  have,  in  the established  orthography, strange  assem- 
blages of  words;  hut  this  is  perplexing  error,  and  ren- 
dering confusion  still  more  grievously  confounded. 

It  is  hut  justice  to  lake  notice  of  the  many  and  highly 
valuable  philological  remarks  with  which  Mr.  Walker 
lias  enriched  his  dictionary,  and  the  judicious  rules  he 
lias  given  for  determining  the  place  of  the  accent;  but  I 
hope  the  pronunciation  of  the  people  of  the  United  States 
will  never  be  regulated  by  his  authority.  I  shall  hereafter 
take  opport unities  to  point  out  what  1  conceive  to  be  er- 
rors into  which  he  has  fallen,  partly  from  his  mistaken 
notions  of  analogy,  and  partly  from  his  servile  deference 
to  the  fashionable  corrupters  of  language  in  the  city  of 
London. 

Mi-.  Webster  has  displayed  more.  learning  and  ingenu- 
ity in  ins  works  than  any  other  American  philologist; 
but  he  appears  resolutely  determined  to  maintain  all  the 
New  England  peculiarities  of  speech.  We  might  permit 
him  to  say  danger,  stranger,  angel,  fyc.  because  in  these 
he  is  favored  by  analogy;  but  we  can  never  aNow  the 
true  pronunciation  of  propitiate,  annunciate,  associate^ 
officiate,  fyc.  to  be  propishate,  annunshate,  assoshate  qffi- 
skate,  fyc.  These  words  may,  for  any  thing  I  know  to  the 
contrary,  be  shortened  in  this  manner  by  that  gentleman's 
friends  in  Connecticut;  but  I  have  never  heard  ihem  so 
pronounced  by  any  well  educated  American.  I  have 
always  supposed  that  in  the  words,  christian,  bastion^ 
mixtion,  fustian,  fyc.  the  i  had  exactly  the  sound  of  y\ 
but  Mr.  Webster  informs  us  that  these  words  are  to  be 
pronounced,  chrischun,  baschun,  mixchun,  fuschun,  fyc. 

I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  of  paying  much  attention 
to  this  author's  dictionary;  but  I  am  confident  that  his 
spellinghook,  which  has  a  very  extensive  circulation,  has 
contributed  greatly  to  vitiate  the  pronunciation  of  the 
youth  of  the  United  States.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
he  is  so  tenacious  of  his  errors,  as  otherwise  we  might 
calculate  on  his  labors  being  very  beneficial  to  his  eoun* 
try. 


THE   SAVAGE 


233 


SATIRE. 

Does  there  not  appear  to  be  some  impropriety  in  the 
conduct  of  an  author  who  informs  us,  in  the  titlepage  of 
his  book,  that  he  lias  written  a  satirical  poem?  Would 
he  not  act  more  judiciously  by  selecting  some  plain  and 
inoffensive  title  and  allowing  his  satire  to  be  discovered 
by  the  reader?  The  word  satire  in  English  conveys  a 
very  different  idea  from  the  satira  of  the  Romans:  which 
was  merely  the  name  of  a  miscellaneous  composition  in 
verse.  When  an  author  boldly  and  dexterously  lashes  the 
vices  of  the  world,  he  is  accounted  a  satirist]  when  he 
uses  ingenious  ridicule  as  the  means  of  making  men  a- 
shamed  of  their  follies,  he  is  said  to  be  satirical',  when 
in  a  strain  of  delicate  irony  he  laughs  at  the  errors  of 
his  species,  the  productions  of  his  pen  are  justly  denomi- 
nated satires) — but  we  can  hardly  suppose  that  verses, 
merely  because  they  are  ill  natured,  merely  because  they 
declare  war  against  the  vices  and  follies  of  men,  are  en- 
titled to  the  appellation  of  satire. 

"What  is  this  you  appear  to  have  been  reading?  A 
satirical  poem.  Well  I  must  give  it  a  perusal.  Doubtless 
I  shall  find  a  great  display  of  imagination  and  genius, 
since  the  writer  was  so  confident  of  the  merit  and  pun- 
gency of  his  remarks  as  to  think  them  worthy  of  the 
epithet  satirical.  Yes-  every  line  will  sparkle  with  the 
scintillations  of  wit,  and  every  sentence  be  pointed  with 
the  sting  of  an  epigram.  However,  it  seems  a  little  sin- 
gular for  an  author  to  have  a  label  in  his  forehead  with 
this  inscription,  "I  am  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most 
excellent  fancy:"  he  should  leave  that,  meihinks,  to  be 
said  by  another.  What  was  the  character  which  a  Re- 
man satirist  gave  of  his  predecessor? 

Qmnevafer  vilium  rklentiFlaccusamico 
Tangit,  et  admissuscircum  precofdia  ladit, 
Callldua  excusso  populum  susi>cndcrc  naso. 

—But  here  the  titlepage  appears  as  a  rod  suspended  in 
terrorem,  not  to  deter  us  from  evil,  but  to  frighten  us  from 
reading  the  book.  The  author  is  too  generous  to  attack 
us  unawares:  he  wears  hay  on  his  horn.  Keep  at  a  dis- 
U2 


234  THE   SAVAGE. 

tance,  ye  timorous!  as  for  me,  I  will  venture  to  approach 
him;  land  if  I  perish,  1  perish.'  " 

We  read  several  minutes  very  attentively,  and  then 
continued  our  observations.  "The  danger  was  rather  ima- 
ginary than  real.  The  author  might  have  been  as  modest 
as  Horace,  and  given  his  satires  the  name  of  sermones. 

Quid  di^ttum  tmito  feret  hie  promisscr  hi.itu? 

But  here  are  notes!  Ah,  these  will  point  out  the  latent 
beauties  of  the  work;  these  will  elucidate  what  is  ob- 
scure, and  explain  the  mysterious  allusions  of  the  author. 
But  why  should  a  poem  that  was  published  yesterday  be 
burthened  to  day  with  explanatory  notes?  In  perusing 
the  works  of  the  ancients  we  may  sometimes  derive  ad- 
vantage from  the  labors  of  the  scholiast;  but  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  world  have  not,  since  this  work  made 
its  appearance,  undergone  any  changes  of  consequence. 
Why  then  should  our  attention  be  diverted  from  the 
poem  itself  to  the  lucubrations  of  a  commentator?  Any 
one  who  is  desirous  of  displaying  his  erudition  in  this 
way  has  nothing  else  to  do  than  publish  a  new  edition  of 
Shakspeare  enriched  with  additional  annotations.  It  is 
true,  that  it  will  not  be  easy  to  find  any  word  of  the  ori- 
ginal to  which  he  may  append  observations  of  his  own; 
but  this  should  not  operate  as  a  discouragement  on  the 
mind  of  the  commentator:  for  it  must  he  a  consolatory  re- 
flection to  him,  that  there  may  be  such  a  thing  as  a  note  on 
a  note,  a  wheel  within  a  wheel;  and  that  live  hundred 
notes  may  yet  be  written  concerning  old  Vice  with  his 
dagger  of  lath. 

But  these  notes  (may  I  believe  it?)  were  written  by 
the  author  of  the  poem!  Lame  poetry  indeed,  that  must 
hobble  on  crutches  of  prose!  Has  it  not  been  an  axiom  as 
old  as  criticism  itself  that  a  poem  should  be  complete? 
that  it  should  have  a  beginning  a  middle  and  an  end?  that 
there  should  be  nothing  deficient  or  redundant? 

The  notes  may  be  learned,  ingenious,  profound;  "but 
this  was  no  place  for  these  things."  Every  poem,  we 
are  told,  should  be 

>  simplex  duntaxat  et  iinum. 


THE   SAVAGE.  235 

No  man  should  make  allusions  in  a  poem,  which  cannot 
be  understood  without  explanatory  notes;  or  write  verses 
which  he  finds  it  necessary  to  piece  out  with  patches  of 
prose.  Must  not  a  poem  he  very  imperfect  which  stands 
in  need  of  tlie  scholia  of  the  author,  before  it  makes  its 
appearance  in  the  world ?  Was  he  afraid  that  we  would 
not  feel  the  weight  of  his  poetical  remarks,  and  has  there- 
fore enforced  ihem  by  observations  in  prose?  Was  it  in 
pity  to  our  ignorance  that  he  has  subjoined  these  ex- 
planatory remarks?  What  would  the  ancients  have  said 
to  this  plan  of  an  author's  furnishing  notes  for  his  own 
composition?" 

"You  appear,"  said  my  friend,  c'to  have  formed  an  er- 
roneous opinion  of  the  nature  of  the  work.  The  notes  are 
not  to  be  considered  as  mere  appendages  to  the  poem: 
far  from  it — they  are  an  integral,  and  indeed  the  principal, 
part  of  the  composition.  The  verses  may  be  considered 
as  a  cement  which  consolidates  the  discordant  matter  of 
the  notes  in  a  beautiful  and  harmonious  whole.  The  poem 
may  be  considered  as  the  spine  with  which  the  various 
bones  of  the  animal  are  connected.  The  lines  may  —but  I 
do  not  remember  any  thing  else  which  would  assist  "me 
in  my  illustrations.  Did  you  never  hear  of  a  statue  com- 
posed of  different  materials — ivory  and  gold?" 

"I  have  heard  of  iron  mixed  with  miry  clay:  I  have 
heard  of  the  following  supposition, 

Ilumano  capiti cervicem  pictor  equinam 
Jun^ero  si  relit,  et.  varias  inducere  plumas 
Undiquc  collatis  membrie,  ut  turpiter  atrum 
Desinat  in  piscem  mulicr  formosa  superne: — 

I  have  heard  of  centaurs; — but  this  literary  monster  bears 
resemblance  to  nothing  in  the  regions  of  fancy,  unless  it 
be  the  Scylla  of  the  poets,  or  Milton's  Sin,  who 

seemed  a  woman  to  the  waist,  and  fair, 

Hut  ended  foul  in  many  a  scaly  fold 
Voluminous  and  vast,  a  serpent  armed 
With  mortal  sting:  about  her  middle  round 
A  cry  of  hellhounds  neverceasing  barked 
With  wide  Cerberian  mouths  full  loud,  and  rung 
A  hideous  peal. 

What  do  you  think  of  the  similitude?  Were  it  not  for 
the  'woman  to  the  waist  and  fair,'  and  the 'mortal  sting,' 
I  would  say  it  was  an  excellent  likeness  " 


236  THE    SAVAGE. 

"Search  the  poets,"  said  my  friend,  "no  longer  for  an 
archetype:  you  will  find  nothing  like  it  'in  heaven  above 
or  in  earth  beneath.' 

Satira  iota  nostra  est,  was  the  boast  of  Quintilian:  and 
we  with  the  utmost  propriety  may  assert  that  this  new 
species  of  composition  is  wholly  our  own.  The  ancients 
would  have  derided  the  idea,  of  a  man's  writing  notes^ 
explanatory  of  his  own  composition,  as  the  height  of 
literary  absurdity;  but  we 

Nil  iutentatum  r.ostri  liquere  poetae — 

we  have  opened  a  new  way  to  the  temple  of  fame.  And 
you  must  acknowledge  that  the  scheme  is  attended  with 
many  advantages. 

In  the  first  place,  it  may  be  observed  that  notes  add 
greatly  to  the  dignity  of  a  poem:  a  work  must  be  impor- 
tant that  attracts  the  attention  of  a  commentator.  But  if 
these  annotations  be  left  to  be  written  by  posterity,  we 
are  denied  the  happiness  of  participating  in  the  honors 
conferred  on  our  book;  and  who  knows  whether  our 
addlepated  descendents  may  think  the  work  worthy  of  a 
clavis  or  a  commentary. 

Again:  Every  poet  is  desirous  of  producing  a  volume;- 
and  this,  I  assure  you,  is  a  matter  of  considerable  diffi- 
culty, admitting  the  verses  to  be  tolerable.  But  agreeably 
to  this  new  plan,  nothing  more  is  necessary  than  to  write 
a  few  jingling  lines,  and  attach  a  sufficiency  of  matter,  in 
the  form  of  notes,  to  swell  out  the  book  to  a  respectable 
size.  'O  that  mine  adversary  had  written  a  book!'  was 
the  exclamation  of  Job  when  he  reflected  on  the  evils  he 
had  suffered  throngh  the  injustice  of  men.  Were  Job  now 
alive,  he  would  think  of  some  heavier  curse  for  his  ene- 
mies. The  moderns  have  made  so  many  improvements 
in  book  making  and  other  manufactures;  they  have 
adopted  so  many  labor  saving  schemes,  that  the  produc- 
tion of  a  book  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  difficulty. 

Thirdly:  In  writing  notes,  a  man  has  it  in  his  power, 
with  very  litle  trouble,  to  make  a  great  display  of  his 
reading  and  erudition.  He  brings  forth  the  lumber  from 
his  literary   wareroom,  and  astonishes  the   world  with 


THE   SAVAGE.  237 


the  depth  of  his  researches.  There  is  nothing  however 
antiquated,  puerile,  or  ridiculous,  but  may  rind  a  place 
in  Ike  farrago  of  Ids  book. 

Fourthly:  The  attention  of  the  reader  being  continually 
diverted  from  the  verses  which  give  a  name  to  the  per- 
formance, he  will  be  apt  to  overlook  those  blemishes 
which  a  more  critical  examination  would  undoubtedly 
have  exposed. 

Fifthly:  In  this  species  of  composition,  an  author  may 
not  only  acquire  celebrity  as  a  poet;  but  he  may  exhibit 
his  talents  as  a  writer  of  prose:  he  may  acquire  renown 
as  a  ciitic  and  philosopher. 

Sixthly:  Who  ha<?  not  heard  of  the  obscurity  of  Pindar 
and  Persiu>?  Had  these  poets  explained  their  obscuri- 
ties in  a  series  of  notes,  every  note  would  have  been  a 
treasure  to  posterity.  If  it.  be  admitted  that  a  commenta- 
tor should  understand  the  subject  of  ••is  remarks,  permit 
me  to  ask,  who  can  be  able  to  enter  so  fully  into  the 
meaning  of  a  writer,  as  the  writer  himself? 

Seventhly:  May  not  an  author  of  genius  think  it  neces- 
sary to  incase  his  poetical  gems  in  substantial  prose  of 
his  own  to  prevent  their  being  eaten  up  by  'the  com- 
mentating zeal'  of  succeeding  aunotators? 

Lastly:  Although  I  have  asserted  that  this  lame  poe- 
try, leaning  on  crutches  of  prose,  is  a  modern  invention, 
yet  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  first  idea  of  this  species  of 
writing  was  taken  from  the  sat  ire  of  the  Romans;  or  rather, 
thai  it  may  boast  the  same  origin  with  the  musa  pedeslris 
of  Horace.  Now  this  satire  was  said  to  be  derived  from 
satira,cibi  genus  ex  varus  rebus  conditum,  Anglice,  a  hash, 
But  the  Romans  always  supposed  that  this  literary  repast, 
however  multifarious  its  ingredients,  must  be  served  up 
in  one  poetical  dish;  whereas  the  moderns  prefer  bringing 
it  to  the  public  table  in  two  half  dishes;  which  practice, 
every  one  must  acknowledge,  adds  greatly  to  the  variety 
of  the  entertainment,'' 


238  THE   SAYA(JE, 

THOUGHTS*. 

Q.uo-mo  cunqiic  rapit  teuipestas  deferoirllospw. 

We  cannot  pretend  to  say  what  passes  in  the  minds 
of  civilized' men;  but  a  savage,  if  there  be  nothing  to  call 
forth  the  energies  of  his  soul,  sinks  into  a  state  of  torpid 
existence,  in  which,  although  he  is  sensible  of  the  evils 
of  mortality,  he  feels  no  inclination  to  partake  of  those 
enjoyments  Which  awaken  the  desires,  and  call  forth  the 
exertions  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 

He  is  unable,  of  himself,  to  shake  off  this  stupor  of  the 
faculties:  it  requires  some  unusual  occurrence  on  the 
earth,  some  strange  appearance  in  the- heavens,. or  some-. 
violent  commotion  in  the  elements,  to  give  a  spring  to  the 
mind  and  break  up  the  gloomy  enchantment. 

Heavy  black  clouds  rising  in  the  west,  and  the  loud'. 
rushing  of  winds  in  the  mountains,  the  sudden  rise  of 
rivers-  and  the  noise  of  many  waters,  eaunot  revivify  the 
mind;  but  they  lull  it  to  a  state  of  pleasing  repose  and 
banish  those  feverish  dreams  which  accompany  this  rest- 
less sleep,  this  inertness  of  soul.  But  when  vivid  flashes 
of  lightning  are  suddenly  followed  by  claps  of  thunder, 
"louder  and  louder  still" — when  he  feels  the  rocking  of 
an  earthquake;  when  the  foundations  of  the  world  are 
shaken — then,  heis  startled  into  Z//e,  and  enjoys  the  plea- 
sures of  existence. 

Thrs  disease  of  the  mind  has  sometimes  been  relieved,, 
though  not  permanently  cured,  by  a.  total  eclipse  of  the 
sua,  the  conflagration  of  a  city,  or  the  sight  of  two  ar- 
mies rushing  to  battle.  Any  thing  is  preferable  to  this, 
painful  inertia:  better  to  be  "chased;  as  the  chaff  of  the 
mountain  before  the  wind,  or  the  down  of  the  thistle  be- 
fore the  whirlwind  P' 

But  nature  pursues  her  calm  unvarying  round:  she  ef- 
fects her  sublime  purposes  with  infinite  ease,  and  seldom 
finds  it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  those  stupendous 
exertions  which  excite  the  fears,  awaken  the  wonder,  and. 
elevate  the  feelings  of  men.  Her  unceasing  operations 
are  continued  from  eternity  to  eternity;  and  cannot  be  in- 
terrupted by  the  repinings  of  a  fool  or  the  ravings  of  a 


THE    SAVAGE.  239 

maniac.  She  is  n°.ver  in  haste:  she  never  employs  more 
force  than  is  necessary  for  the  completion  of  her  designs. 
It  is  only  when  she  meets  with  opposition  from  the  cha- 
otic tendency  of  things,  or  the  stubborn  inertia  of  mat- 
ter, that  she  arrays  herself  in  terrors  and  rises  up  in 
majesty  to  confound  the  opposers  of  her  power. 

It  is  little,  therefore,  that  man,  whose  duration  is  fora 
moment,  can  expect  to  behold  of  the  magnificent  com- 
motions of  the  universe,  yet,  of  such  infinite  importance 
is  he  in  his  own  estimation,  that  he  would  have  nature 
turn  actress  and  go  through  her  principal  parts  merely  to 
soothe  his  chagrin  and  dissipatethe  vapors  that  have  risen 
into  his  brain.  And  when  he  experiences  any  uneasiness 
in  his  contemptible  microcosm  (which  is  said  to  be  go- 
verned by  laws  in  direct  opposition  t<o  the  laws  of  the 
universe)  his  heart  swells,  with  rebellious-indignation, 
against  the  eternal  establishment  of  things;  he  looks 
down  upon  the  earth  with  contempt  and  abhorrence;  lie 
looks  upward  with  an  air  of  defiance;  and,  in  a  moment 
of  disappointed  ambition,  this  redoubtable  Sampson 
would  take  hold  of  the  pillars  of  heaven  and  bury  him- 
self in  the  ruins  of  the  universe'! 

Proud  insect !  thy  rage  proves  the  truth  of  the  proverb, 
Inest  et  formicce,  bilis:  thy  pleasures  and  thy  pains,  thy 
sorrows  and  thy  joys,  thy  hatred  and  thy  love,  thy  exis- 
tence and  thy  nonexistence,  are  of  equal  importance,  in 
the  empire  of  nature,  with  the  troubles  experienced  by 
an  ant  in  rolling  her  burthen. 

Who  talks  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature?  M-an  him- 
self! He  is  the  lord  of  nature:  the  earth  was  created  for 
his  use,  and  heavens  for  his  amusement.  Comets  appear 
predicting  revolutions  in  kingdoms,  and  armies  are  mar- 
shalled in  the  skies  portending  the  destruction  of  cities. 

We  have  extracted  the  following  parable  from  the 
third  book  of  lddo,  the  Seer. 

"In  those  days  there  stood  an  anthill  in  the  valley  of 
Mobah.  And  it  came  to  pass,  that  on  the  first  day  of  the 
week,  in  the  sixth  month,  and  on  the  sixth  day  of  the 
month,  the  inhabitants  of  the  anthill  assembled  together 


240  THE    SAVAGE. 

to  hold  a  solemn  feast  in  the  presence  of  their  god.  The 
ants  desisted  from  their  labors, and  having  purified  them- 
selves according  1o  the  law  of  their  fathers,  they  pre- 
pared to  celebrate,  with  joy  and  gladness  of  heart,  the 
anniversary  which  was  kept  in  honor  of  'he  day  when 
their  empire  was  established  in  the  valley  of  Hohah. — 
But,  lo!  at  the  time  of  offering  up  the  morning  sacrifice, 
a  whirlwind  passed  over  the  plain;  and  after  the  whirl- 
wind, there  were  thunderings;  and  alter  the  thunderings, 
there  was  an  earthquake.  And  the  ants  were  sore  afraid, 
and  prayed  with  a  loud  voice,  and  cast  ashes  on  their 
beads,  saying,  Wo  unto  us,  what  have  we  done,  that  the 
anger  of  our  god  is  kindled  against  us? 

Then,  stood  off  Basha  the  son  of  Bama  in  the  midst  of 
the  congregation,  and  spake  unto  the  multitude,  saying, 
Give  ear,  O  ye  pismires,  to  the  words  of  my  mouth,  and 
lay  up  my  counsels,  in  your  hearts.  Ye  know  that  I  have 
given  my  days  to  study,  and  my  nights  to  contemplation; 
that  1  have  observed  the  rising  and  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
and  the  various  appearances  of  the  moon;  that  I  have  dis- 
covered thenatuie  of  the  firmament,  und  considered  the 
course  of  the  stars.  Therefore,  O  ye  citizens  of  Hobab, 
and  inhabitants  of  the  anthill  attend  to  thedictates  of  wis- 
dom. When  your  fathers  settled  in  this  valley  they  were 
a  little  band,  miserable  and  poor;  but  now  ye  are  become 
as  the  stars  of  heaven,  which  cannot  be  numbered.  But 
ye  have  waxed  proud  and  have  forgotten  the  precepts  of 
the  law.  Know  ye  not  that  our  fathers  have  told  us  that 
we  should  push  oar  burthens  before  us,  and  not  drag  them 
after  us  according  to  the  manner  of  the  heathen?  Yet 
notwithstanding  this,  O  ye  ants,  1  have  seen  you  turn  your 
hinder  parts  to  the  temple  of  our  god,  as  ye  ascended  ibis 
holy  mountain  which  was  given  to  our  fathers;  therefore 
the  heavens  are  troubled;  therefore  the  sun  has  bidder, 
his  face;  and  the  earth  is  shaken  from  her  centre. 

While  be  yet  spake  there  came  a  wild  beast  from  the 
forest  of  Lebanon,  and  trod  down  the  hillock" — — 

But  we  not  only  expect  that  the  heavens  should 
be  disturbed  by  the  revolutions  of  empires,  we    xpect 


THE    SAVAGE.  241 

,hat  the  births  and  deaihs  and  little  misfortunes  of  mor- 
tals should  be  preceded  by  terrestrial  portents  and  celes- 
tial prodigies.  This  disposition  in  human  nature  is  finely 
ridiculed  by  Shakspeare. 

Glendower.  Sit,  cousin  Percy;  sit  good  cousin  Hotspur: 
For  by  that  name  as  oft  as  Lancaster 
Doth  speak  of  you,  his  cheeks  look  pale;  and,  with 
A  risinz  sigh,  lie  wisheth  you  in  heaven. 

Hotspur.  And  yon  in  hell,  asoften  as  he  hears 
Owen  Glendower  spoke  of. 

Olend.  I  cannot  blame  him:  at  my  nativity, 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes, 
Of  horning  cressets;  and  at  mxj  birth 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shaked  like  a  coward. 

Hot.  Why  so  it  would  have  done 
At  the  same  season,  if  your  mother's  cat 
Had  kittened,  though  yourself  had  ne'er  been  born. 

Olend.  I  say  the  earth  did  shake  when  I  was  born. 

Hot.  And  I  say  the  earth  was  not  of  my  mind, 
If  you  suppose,  as  fearing  you,  it  shook. 

Olend.  The  heavens  were  all  on  fire,  the  earth  did  tremble. 

Hot.  O,  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens  on  fire, 
And  not  in  feart>f  your  nativity!- 

Glend.  Cousin,  of  many  men 
I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.    Give  me  leave 
To  tell  you  once  again,  that,  at  my  birth 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes; 
The  goats  ran  from  the  mountains,  and  the  herds 
Were  strangely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
These  signs  have  marked  me  extraordinary; 
And  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show, 
I  am  not  i?i  the  roll  of  common  men. 

Where  is  the  man  who  does  not  think  with  Glendower, 
that  he  is  not  on  "the  roll  of  common  men?"  We  can 
all  readily  admit  that  at  the  birth  of  commori  men,  it  would 
be  a  preposterous  thing  for  the  "front  of  heaven  to  be  full 
of  fiery  shapes"  or  for  the  earth  to  tremble;  but  at  our 
own  nativity,  we  admit,  there  might  be  some  few  signs 
in  heaven,  some  little  commotions  on  earth,  to  mark  us 
extraordinary. 

Who  does  not  suppose  that  the  order  of  nature  might 
be  interrupted  to  give  him  intimation  of  evils  that  may 
befal  him?  Who  would  not  suppose  a  squadron  of  angels 
honorably  employed  in  watching  his  motions  and  direct- 
ing his  steps?  Who  does  not  think  himself  worthy  of 
V 


242  THE    SAVAGE. 

being  the  peculiar  favorite  of  heaven?  Who  does  not  con- 
ceive himself  able  to  change  the  unchangeable  mind  by 
his  prayers. 

But  whither  have  we  wandered?  We  have  followed  the 
train  of  our  capricious  thoughts  and  lost  sight  of  the  ob- 
ject we  meant  to  pursue.  It  is  true  ihat  we  discarded  me- 
thod, in  the  beginning,and  proposed  to  make  an  excursion 
through  the  fields  of  imagination;  yet,  it  will  probably  be 
expected  that  we  should  preserve  some  order  in  our  wan- 
derings and  not  be  continually  changing  our  course  in  pur- 
suit of  every  meteor  that  flits  through  the  regions  of  fancy. 

We  intended  to  have  taken  a  more  extensive  ramble: 
and  we  now  see  objects  at  a  distance  which  we  would 
willingly  chase  for  a  while,  and  then  desert  them  for 
others:  but  as  we  are  apprehensive  that  our  readers  would 
not  choose  to  follow  us  in  our  fantastic  flight  from  one 
corner  of  the  world  to  another,  we  shall  hasten  to  put 
an  end  to  our  excursion. 


SAVAGE    CORRESPONDENCE. 

We  have  lately  received  a  number  of  letters  from  our 
Muscogulgee  friends,  which  afford  us  very  little  satis- 
faction. 

The  government  of  tbe  United  States  has  been  assidu- 
ously attentive  to  the  business  of  introducing  the  arts  and 
improvements  of  civilized  life  among  the  tribes  which  com- 
pose our  now  declining  but  once  potent  confederacy. 
The  arms  of  the  warrior  are  exchanged  for  the  ax  and 
the  ho,  the  hammer  and  the  shuttle.  They  no  longer 
climb  the  proud  mountains,  or  traverse  the  desert:  no — 
they  toil  with  the  spade,  and  sweat  at  the  anvil !  Lands  are 
appropriated;  fields  are  marked  out,  and  permanent  build- 
ings are  erected.  A  monopolizing  avaricious  accumula- 
ting spirit  has  appeared;  sordiness  meanness  selfishness 
are  triumphant;  freedom  and  virtue  have  vanished  forever. 

Personal  merit,  love  of  country,  and  a  thirst  for  glory, 
have  been  superseded  by  a  swarm  of  civilized  virtues: 
creeping  caution,  cringing  servility  specious  deception, 


THE    SAVAGE.  243 

sly  prudence,  and  squinteyed  cunning.  The  line  and  the 
rule,  the  lock  and  the  key  have  madeiheir  appearance — 
have  made  their  appearance  among-  Indians! — Shades  of 
our  fathers!  spirits  of  heroes!  look  not  down  on  your 
degenerate  children! 

Do  some  of  our  readers  wish  to  observe  that  Christian- 
ity will  be  introduced  among-  the  heathen;  and  that  the 
loss  of  a  savage  freedom  will  he  amply  compensated  by 
the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  being  published  in  our  land? 
Yes:  ye  will  make  us  such  christians  as  ye  yourselves  are. 
Pretended  disciples  of  Jesus !  shall  we  gain  by  the  change? 

We  have  likewise  received  a  series  of  letters  from  a 
Cherokee  warrior:  some  of  which  we  will  venture  to 
lay  before  the  public. 

In  order  to  enable  the  reader  to  understand  some  allu- 
sions that  are  made  in  these  letters,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  observe  that  many  years  ago,  our  warriors  took  a  num- 
ber of  Cherokee  prisoners;  among  whom  was  a  boy, 
who  has  since  acquired  the  name  of  Chotahowee.  We 
were  at  liberty  to  determine  the  fate  of  one  captive:  and 
we  made  choice  of  Chotahowee;  who  honored  us  ever 
after  with  the  appellation  of  father. 

Chotahowee  can  express  himself  in  English  indiffer- 
ently well:  these  letters  were  dictated  by  him  in  that  lan- 
guage, and  written  by  a  citizen  of  the  United  States  who 
frequents  the  Indian  towns  for  the  purposes  of  trade. 

In  preparing  these  letters  for  the  press,  we  have  been 
solicitous  to  retain,  whenever  it  was  possible,  the  words 
of  our  correspondent;  and  where  we  have  found  it  ne- 
cessary to  discard  his  expressions  and  substitute  others, 
we  have  been  particularly  careful  to  preserve  the  mean- 
ing of  the  sentence. 

In  many  instances  it  was  altogether  impossible  to  pre- 
sent to  our  civilized  readers,  at  the  same  time,  the  origi- 
nal words  and  the  meaning  intended  to  be  conveyed  by 
them:  the  allusions  to  savage  manners  customs  and  opin- 
ions; the  extravagant  metaphors,  wild  similitudes,  and 
abrupt  apostrophes,  would  have  been  wholly  unintelligible. 

We  had  some  thoughts,  at  first,  of  civilizing  the  Ian- 


244  THE    SAVAGE. 

guage  of  our  friend;  but  we  soon  found  that  it  could  not 
be  done  without  destroying  that  natural  simplicity  which 
is  its  greatest  recommendation.  And  we  have  consequent- 
ly endeavored  to  pursue  that  golden  mean  (every  good  is 
denominated  golden  among  christians)  which  is  so  highly 
recommended  by  poets,  philosophers  and  critics. 

We  shall  make  no  apology  for  the  sentiments  of  our 
friend:  our  readers  are  in  the  practice  of  expressing  their 
own  opinions  freely,  and,  consequently,  will  never, be  so 
inconsistent  as  to  deny  that  privilege  toothers  which  they 
claim  for  themselves.  They  find  fault  with  our  rudeness 
and  barbarity;  we  blame  the  deceitful  appearances  they 
exhibit: 

et  hanc  veniam  petimusque  damusque  vicissim. 

We  shall  probably  be  blamed  by  posterity  for  not  at- 
taching some  explanatory  notes  to  the  obscure  and  curi- 
ous passages  that  may  be  found  in  these  letters;  but  we 
will  frankly  declare  that  we  thought  it  right  to  leave 
many  ambiguous  expressions  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
exercising  the  ingenuity  of  our  contemporaries  and  af- 
fording employment  to  critics,  commentators,  and  book- 
makers, not  yet  in  existence. 

The  clerical  gentleman  to  whom  our  correspondent  has 
given  the  appellation  of  Blackcoat  must  be  highly  pleased 
with  Chotahowee  and  Piomingo  for  taking  notice  of  his 
apostolical  labors.  His  thoughts,  we  apprehend,  are  not 
wholly  engrossed  by  preparing  the  Indians  for  the  world 
which  is  to  come:  if  we  be  not  misinformed,  he  intends  to 
establish  a  little  Jesuitical  empire  in  the  Cherokee  nation, 

LETTER  I. 

From  Chotahowee,  a  warrior  of  the  Cherokee  nation,  to  Piomingo,  a  headman 
and  warrior  of  the  Muscogulgee  confederacy. 

Father!  I  have  prevailed  upon  Oseii  John,  a  beloved 
white  warrior,  to  put  this  speech  upon  paper  and  convey 
it  to  you. 

Father!  You  have  forgotten  your  friends  and  your 
country;  Chotahowee  is  no  longer  remembered:  shall  I 
also  be  forgetful  of  you? — When  the  sun  shall  forget  to 
rise,  when  the  wind  shall  forget  to  blow,  when  the  Ten- 


THE   SAVAGE.  245 

nessee  shall  cease  to  flow  from  the  mountains;  then,  will 
Chotahowee  be  forgetful  of  his  friend;  then,  will  he 
cease  to  remember  Piomingo. 

Father!  1  was  painted  black:  I  was  bound  to  the  stake; 
the  fuel  was  prepared;  and  the  flames  were  ready  to  de- 
vour me.  I  had  made  myself  strong  to  suffer;  but,  you  put 
forth  your  hand  and  preserved  me.  I  became  your  son.  I 
was  happy.  But  the  man  of  the  sorrowful  spirit  came  a- 
mong  us;  he  turned  away  your  face  from  your  friends, 
from  your  country,  and  from  your  son  Chotahowee.  You 
gave  your  ear  to  the  wicked  talks  that  were  written  in  his 
books;  and  forgot  the  beloved  speech  of  your  fathers.  1 
wept  when  I  saw  that  your  rifle  became  rusty,  that  your 
bow  remained  unstrung,  and  that  your  arrows  continued 
to  sleep  in  your  quiver;-  I  wept  when  I  saw  that  your 
thoughts  became  deep;  and  your  face  became  strange  to 
your  son  Chotahowee. 

Father!  When  the  man  of  the  sorrowful  spirit  died,  I 
was  glad:  I  said  Piomingo  will  no  longer  give  his  ear  to 
the  cursed  talks  that  are  written  in  the  books;  he  will  at- 
tend in  the  council,  preside  at  the  feasts,  and  listen  to  the 
beloved  songs  of  his  fathers.  But  the  man  of  the  sorrow- 
ful spirit  had  poisoned  your  mind;  your  countenance  was 
sad;  you  departed  in  the  night;  and  we  knew  not  whither 
you  had  gone. 

Father!  1  continued  a  long  time  with  the  Muscogulgee 
warriors;  I  procured  a  name  by  my  abilities  in  hunting; 
and  was  honored  with  a  crown  for  my  success  in  war. 
After  which,  I  departed,  and  came  into  the  country  of  the 
Cherokees,  to  the  beloved  town  Chota,  where  I  was  born. 

Father,  lend  me  your  ear!  About  sixty  or  seventy  moons 
ago,  there  came  among  us  a  man  dressed  in  black,  icitha 
bookfull  of  talks.  He  spoke  to  the  people  at  first  with  a 
very  smooth  tongue,  and  said  he  had  brought  them  good 
news  from  the  great  spirit  who  rides  in  the  storm,  and 
who  thunders  in  the  clouds  that  pass  over  our  heads. 

As  we  are  always  pleased  to   hear  good  news,  and 
were  not  without  hopes  that  he  would  make  us  some 
V  2 


246  THE  SAVAGE, 

presents,  we  assembled  at  the  townhouse  to  receive  his 
talk  and  deliver  our  answer. 

But  the  man  dressed  in  black  with  the  book  of  talks  in 
his  hand,  would  not  come  into  the  townhouse:  he  said  his 
good  news  were  not  for  the  chiefs  and  warriors  only,  but 
for  all  the  beloved  people  belonging  to  the  nation.  He 
went  into  the  public  square,  and  mounted  on  a  bench;  but 
it  was  not  sufficiently  high  to  enable  him  to  overlook  the 
assembl}7.  And  he  therefore  desired  some  more  elevated 
place  on  which  he  might  stand.  I  sent  my  two  friends, 
Bloody  Bear  and  Red  Jacket,  to  bring  an  empty  hogshead 
from  my  house,  which  I  conceived  would  answer  the 
purpose  of  the  man  dressed  in  black. 

As  soon  as  the  CheroUees  of  Chota  got  a  sight  of  the 
hogshead  they  concluded  that  Blackcoat  had  brought 
them  some  rum;  and,  consequently,  they  flocked  in  from 
every  direction. 

Blackcoat  having  ascended  the  hogshead  with  his  book 
of  talks  in  his  hand,  he  told  us  many  wonderful  things 
which,  he  informed  us,  might  be  found  in  his  book.  He 
said  the  Great  Spirit  made  the  earth  and  the  sun  and  the 
moon  and  the  stars;  and  all  very  good.  He  made  a  man 
and  woman  out  of  clay:  and  he  put  them  in  a  garden,  and 
gave  them  a  talk;  but  the  man  and  the  woman  forgot  the 
beloved  talk,  and  gave  ear  to  wicked  spirits  who  led  them 
astray.  The  Great  Spirit  was  very  angry,  and  drove  a- 
way  the  man  and  the  woman  from  the  garden.  After  this 
men  became  very  numerous  and  covered  the  earth.  They 
became  wicked,  and  learned  the  crooked  ways  of  the 
spirit  that  is  cursed.  The  Great  Spirit  sent  beloved  men, 
who  gave  them  good  talks;  but  they  turned  away  their 
faces  and  persisted  in  evil.  The  Good  Spirit  sent  a  great 
and  beloved  chief,  who  did  many  wonderful  things;  who 
died,  and  was  buried,  and  rose  from  the  dead. 

Father,  attend  to  my  words!  Blackcoat  made  a  speech 
very  long  and  very  curious;  but  we  could  not  understand 
it.  He  told  us  of  a  place  he  called  hell,  full  of  fire  and 
brimstone,  which  burns  for  ever  and  ever;  and  of  a  place 


THE   SAVAGE.  247 

he  called  heaven,  a  very  fine  place; — but  his  talk  was 
crooked:  and  we  could  not  believe  it. 

When  the  young  men  discovered  that  the  hogshead 
was  empty,  they  arose  and  went  away;  and  when  the 
chiefs  perceived  that  Blackcoat  had  brought  them  no 
presents,  they  turned  away  their  ears  from  his  talk. — 
However,  we  sat  still  and  waited  the  conclusion  of  his 
speech.     Then  the  headman  of  Chota  arose  and  said, 

"Brother  Blackcoat!  we  take  you  by  the  hand.  You 
have  come  a  great  distance  to  bring  us  good  news.  Your 
talk  is  very  good:  and  we  thank  you.  We  have  pre- 
pared you  a  lodging  to  which  you  may  retire." 

Father,  farewell.  May  the  Master  of  our  life  preserve 
you  from  danger.  May  he  keep  you  from  learning  the 
crooked  words  of  the  smoothtongued  people,  among  whom 
you  dwell.  Chotahowee. 

THE  STATEHOTJSE  YARD. 

Do  not  expect,  reader,  that  we  are  going  to  give  an 
account  of  the  proceedings  in  the  Statehouse  yard.  No: 
we  merely  mean  to  inform  you  of  some  of  those  savage 
meditations  which  were  occasioned  by  this  assemblage 
of  the  people. 

We  sometimes  walk  in  search  of  amusement,  but,  for 
the  most  part,  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  return  without 
having  found  it.  There  is  such  a  lamentable  paucity  of 
unexpected  incidents — such  a  universal  sameness  reigns 
throughout  the  city — that  the  mind  becomes  torpid  for 
want  of  stimuli  to  keep  it  in  motion:  It  is  therefore  our 
practice,  if,  in  our  perambulations,  our  ears  be  saluted  by 
any  species  of  uproar  or  noise,  immediately  to  repair  to 
the  spot,  hoping  that  some  novel  appearances,  odd  asso- 
ciations, or  spirited  oppositions,  will  be  exhibited,  which 
may  conttibute  to  our  entertainment. 

Well:  we  were  moving  up  Chesnut  street,  apparently 
buried  in  contemplation,  but,  in  reality,  not  thinking  at 
all,  when  we  were  startled  by  the  shouting  of  many 
voices  in  the  public  square. 

We  found  a  crowd,  noisy  and  restless  as  the  waves  of 


248  THE   SAVAGE. 

the  ocean,  surrounding  an  elevated  platform,  on  which 
several  men  were  stationed:  one  of  whom  appeared  to  be 
reading  certain  resolutions,  to  which  he  seemed  occasion- 
ally to  require  the  assent  of  the  multitude. 

The  man  on  the  platform  appeared  to  address  himself 
to  us  as  well  as  to  the  others:  but  as  we  could  not  hear 
the  purport  of  the  resolutions,  we  neither  expressed  our 
dissent  nor  approbation.  We  endeavored  to  approach  the 
scaffold,  in  order  to  understand  the  nature  of  the  subject 
which  occupied  the  attention  of  the  people.  We  unfor- 
tunately succeeded  too  well  in  our  undertaking:  we  ad- 
vanced so  far  into  the  crowd  that  we  found  it  almost 
impossible  to  return;  which  we  were  much  more  anxious 
to  do  than  we  had  been,  a  few  moments  before,  to  pro- 
ceed. The  sovereign  people  paid  no  more  respect  to  a 
Muscogulgee  chief  than  they  did  to  each  other.  We  were 
jostled,  without  ceremony,  first  to  one  side  and  then  to 
the  other;  again  we  were  wedged  up  immovably,  and 
found  it  impossible  to  advance  or  recede.  "Gentlemen, 
let  me  pass— Do  be  so  obliging  as  to  permit  me  to  pass!" 
But  we  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  wind,  and  ad- 
dressed our  solicitations  to  the  tempest.  Yet  these  people 
call  themselves  civilized! — "Yes,  yes,  you  may  talk  of 
your  sovereignty  and  independence  as  much  as  you  please: 
I  should  feel  myself  much  more  independent  if  I  were 
.out  of  the  crowd."  We  prayed  to  the  gods;  but,  as  pray- 
ers alone  are  generally  unavailing,  we  did  not  neglect  to- 
make  use  of  our  personal  exertions;  and  after  being 
shoved  pushed  squeezed  and  bruised  for  the  space  of 
fifty  minutes,  we  found  ourself  breathing  and  exhausted 
in  the  outer  skirts  of  the  assembly.  We  then  very  devout- 
ly exclaimed,  "Thank  God" — but  we  were  rather  too 
hasty  in  making  our  acknowledgments;  for  a  brawny  fel- 
low, in  the  act  of  huzzaing,  dashed  his  hat  in  our  face. 

We  are  remarkably  mild  and  inoffensive;  we  have  an 
abundant  portion  of  the  "milk  of  human  kindness"  in  our 
composition;  in  our  intercourse  with  the  world,  we  "bear 
our  faculties  as  meekly"  as  though  we  were  not  a  head- 
man and  warrior  of  a  great  and  independent  nation;  we 


THE    SAVAGE.  249 

are  harmless  as  a  ''sucking  dove;"  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  irritate  or  offend  us: — but  this  insult  was  so  sudden, 
so  unexpected,  so  violent,  that  it  elicited  a  few  scintil- 
lations of  anger. 

We  turned  round  in  a  rage  upon  the  aggressor;  but  dis- 
covering no  marks  of  respectability  about  him,  our  indig- 
nation was  converted  into  pity  and  contempt.  "Friend!" 
said  we,  "why  art  thou  so  outrageously  patriotic?  What 
hastily  country  done  for  thee?  Does  she  give  thee  food 
to  keep  thee  from  starving,  or  raiment  to  protect  thee 
from  cold?" 

The  man  muttered  something  which  we  did  not  per- 
fectly understand;  but  as  he  did  not  mean  to  offend  usr 
as  he  appeared  to  be  rather  unworthy  of  our  notice,  as 
he  was  a  robust  roughlooking  dog,  and,  as  we  have  heard, 
that  in  civilized  countries,  "the  better  part  of  valor  is 
discretion,"  we,  influenced  by  all  these  considerations, 
determined  to  take  no  further  notice  of  the  patriot. 

Having  extricated  ourself  from  this  difficulty,  we  were 
careful  to  keep  at  a  cautious  distance,  lest  we  should  be 
carried  once  more  into  the  dangerous  vortex.  During  the 
time  that  we  buffeted  the  popular  waves,  our  attention 
was  wholly  employed  in  warding  off  danger  and  striving 
to  provide  for  our  personal  safety;  and,  now,  when  we 
found  leisure  for  reflection,  we  could  not  recollect  any 
thing  we  had  heard,  save  the  words,  honor,  independence, 
dignity,  sovereignty,  war:  these  had  indeed  made  an  im- 
pression on  our  brain  that  was  not  completely  erased! 
but  these  were  fully  sufficient  to  afford  us  a  subject  for 
contemplation. 

Well  then, 

Honor  is  the  subject  of  our  story. 

What  is  honor  *  What  is  national  honor?  Why  do  these 
people  talk  continually  of  their  dignity  honor  and  inde- 
pendence? Does  it  arise  from  a  secret  consciousness  that 
they  are  destitute  of  dignity,  that  their  honor  is  tarnished, 
that  their  independence  has  vanished  forever? 

Captain  Bluster  boasts  much  of  his  honor,  his  courage, 
and  his  power;  his  conversation  is  full  of  swords,  pistols, 


250  THE   SAVAGE. 

blood,  murder,  havoc,  and  destruction;  yet  no  one  re- 
gards the  vaporing  of  Bluster:  his  threats  pass  by  as  the 
"idle  wind"  which  is  not  regarded. — Captain  Bluster 
will  not  fight. 

Shall  people  who  continually  boast  of  their  warlike 
abilities,  who  continually  threaten  to  overwhelm  their 
opponents  with  war  and  devastation,  yet  cautiously  re- 
frain from  carrying  their  menaces  into  execution,  be  en- 
titled to  credit? 

Miss  Tabitha  Testy  has  made  so  many  false  steps  in 
her  journey  through  life — has  stumbled  so  often  —has 
fallen  so  repeatedly — that  her  moral  vesture  is  at  last  so 
begrimed  and  soiled  that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  what 
may  have  been  its  original  color;  but  Tabitha  asserts 
with  the  most  unblushing  confidence  that  it  still  is  white 
as  the  snow  which  is  driven  by  the  northwind  along  the 
tops  of  the  mountains.  "What,  do  you  presume  to  cast 
any  aspersions  on  the  spotless  purity  and  unsullied  white- 
ness of  my  character}  Do  you  dare  to  insinuate  any  thing 
contrary  to  the  dignity  of  my  character?  I  would  have 
you  to  know  that  my  character  is  not  to  be  impeached 
with  impunity!  My  character,  founded  on  the  rocks  of 
innocence  and  integrity,  bids  defiance  to  the  puny  assaults 
of  slander  and  the  impotent  attacks  of  envious  malignity! 
J\Iy  character  is  clear  as  the  sun,  fair  as  the  moon,  and 
terrible  as  an  army  with  banners!"  So  saying,  Tabitha 
walks  so  erectly,  moves  with  so  much  dignity,  that  one 
would  be  diverted  with  her  petulance,  if  the  neverceasing 
repetition  of  the  word  character  did  not  fatigue  and  dis- 
gust us. 

Somebody.  Why,  savage,  what  do  you  mean?  Would 
you  compare  the  people  of  the  United  States  to  Captain 
Bluster,  or  Miss  Tabitha  Testy? 

Savage.  Why  not?  It  has  long  been  the  practice  to 
compare  great  things  with  small,  for  the  sake  of  illustra- 
tion. 

Somebody.  Are  we  not  a  free  sovereign  and  independent 
nation?    Is  not  that  an  established  incontrovertible  fact? 

Savage.  If  it  be  so,  why  do  you  think  it  necessary  to 
make  so  many  assertions  on  the  subject? 


THE   SAVAGE.  251 

Somebody.  Because  we  have  been  treated  as  though 
we  were  slaves;  we  have  been  contemned  insulted 
abused,  for  a  series  of  years;  all  which  we  have  borne 
with  unexampled  patience;  shall  we  not  complain  of 
these  grievances?  shall  we  not  speak  of  our  slighted  ho- 
nor, violated  dignity,  and  outraged  independence? 

Savage  Does  a  man  really  courageous  boast  of  his 
spirit?  Will  a  man  of  honor  talk  forever  of  his  refined 
feelings,  correct  principles,  and  elevated  sentiments? 
Complain!  shall  a  highminded  nation  complain?  If  this 
be  the  way  that  you  seek  for  redress,  you  deserve  the 
contempt  you  experience.  Complain!  no  wonder  you  are 
treated  as  slaves.  You  defend  your  sovereignty  indepen- 
dence aed  honor  by  complaint*,  do  you? 

A  savage  nation  manages  the  business  differently:  Our 
warriors  in  a  hunting  excursion  were  insulted  and  robbed 
by  a  party  of  Chickasaws.  We  sent,  and  demanded  im- 
mediate restitution  of  the  property,  and  punishment  of 
the  malefactors.  Our  demand  was  disregarded.  What  did 
we?  complain?  No!  by  the  souls  of  our  fathers,  no!  we 
burnished  our  arms,  and  took  vengeance  on  our  enemies; 
we  taught  the  robbers,  by  our  deeds,  to  respect  the  dig- 
nity honor  sovereignty  and  independence  of  our  nation. 
Complain! 

The  sons  of  Alknomak  will  never  complain. 

Somebody.  The  sons  of  Alknomak  are  savages;  we 
are  a  civilized  nation.  They  are  barbarous  pagans;  we 
are  polished  christians.  Therefore,  their  conduct  can 
never  seriously  be  proposed  as  an  example  for  us.  Their 
contests  are  on  too  small  a  scale  to  bear  any  resemblance 
to  ours.  What  comparison  can  be  drawn  between  the 
petty  squabbles  of  naked  hords,  and  the  mighty  battles 
of  conflicting  empires? 

Our  love  of  peace,  our  love  of  justice,  our  humanity, 
have  been  the  causes  of  our  forbearance.  We  are  not  cow- 
ards, O  thou  ill  natured  savage!  we  are  not  cowards. 

Savage.  An  avaricious  luxurious  money-worshipping 
nation  must  necessarily  be  cowardly. — Permit  a  savage, 
an  American  savage,  to  give  it  as  his  opinion  that  your 


252  THE   SAVAGE. 

courage  is  noise;  your  honor — air;  your  independence — 
nominal;  your  virtue — extinct.  Your  fathers,  indeed,  pos- 
sessed courage;  but  your  fathers  were  not  so  highly  ci- 
vilized as  their  patriotic  descendents.  Yes,  your  fathers 
were  courageous:  who  has  not  heard  of  Bunkershill,  Sa- 
ratoga, Guilford,  Eutaw,  and  Yorktown? — but  your 
fathers  were  virtuous,  patriotic,  just:  when  these  heroes 
pledged  their  fortunes,  lives,  and  sacred  honor,  iti-ounded 
as  a  voice  from  on  high;  but  you! — far  hence,  ye  profane! 
Approach  not  the  temple  of  honor?  Wealth  is  the  god  of 
your  idolatry !  Ye  have  but  one  motive  to  action — money. 
Speak  rather  of  things  ye  are  able  to  understand:  of  the 
establishment  of  banks,  of  the  price  of  stocks,  of  policies 
of  insurance,  of  ledgers,  hales,  hampers,  counters,  the 
art  of  shaving  notes,  and  the  science  of  calculation. 

Your  fathers  were  independent:  one  of  them  proudly 
declared,  when  tempted  by  a  bribe,  that  the  wealth  of 
Great  Britain  could  not  induce  him  to  forfeit  his  honor; 
but  you! — your  avaricious  desires,  your  luxurious  wants, 
your  commercial  speculating  degrading  pursuits,  have 
reduced  you  to  slavery,  so  low,  so  contemptible,  that  you 
would  sell  your  country  and  your  posterity  to  George, 
Napoleon,  or  the  Devil,  in  order  to  gratify  your  sordid 
propensities. 

Has  Britain  insulted  and  maltreated  you  ever  since 
you  were  a  nation?  Did  she  hold  your  frontier  posts  many 
years  in  open  defiance  to  positive  stipulations? — Has 
she  captured  your  vessels,  impressed  your  seamen,  mur- 
dered your  citizens,  attacked  your  frigates,  and  insulted 
your  government?  Well:  what  have  you  done  in  the  mean 
time?  You  have  uttered  piteousand  whining  complaints, 
and  sometimes  indulged  yourselves  in  idle  threats,  and 
boasted  of  your  sovereignty  independence  and  valor! 
Is  this  the  way  to  be  respected  among  the  nations  of  the 
earth?  If  a  private  man  should  act  in  this  manner,  would 
he  not  be  universally  and  justly  despised?  would  not  his 
name  be  covered  with  obloquy,  and  his  person  insulted 
wherever  it  should  appear?  would  such  a  one  talk  of  his 
courage,  his  honor,  his  dignity?  would  he  lay  claim  to 
4he  character  of  a  gentleman? 


THE    SAVAGE.  253 

Somebody.  We  wish,  if  possible,  to  avoid  the  horrors 
of  war.  We  would  rather  submit  to  many  indignities 
than  bring  upon  humanity  the  affliction**  of  war. 

Savage.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  calamities  usually  oc- 
casioned by  war.  But  when  a  nation  becomes  the  slave  of 
avaricious  desires,  nothing  but  some  mighty  commotion 
can  save  her.  Any  thing  which  could  divert  your  atten- 
tion from  your  present  pursuits, — an  earthquake,  famine, 
war,  pestilence,  would  be  a  national  blessing.  Any  thing 
that  would  destroy  the  canker  of  avarice — any  thing 
that  would  mow  down  the  rank  weeds  of  luxury — any 
thing  that  would  give  virtue  an  opportunity  to  flourish — 
any  thing  that  would  present  an  object  for  honorable  em- 
ulation, would  be  a  national  blessing.  When  a  patient 
labors  under  a  painful  and  dreadful  disease,  any  change 
is  desirable — even  death  itself. 

We  tremble  at  the  evils  of  war,  because  they  are  ra- 
ther uncommon;  but  we  pass  over  unnoticed  the  evils  of 
peace.  War  prevents  the  human  race  from  sinking  into 
the  lowest  state  of  degeneracy  and  corruption.  War,  by 
interrupting  the  progress  of  civilization,  prevents  the  ex- 
tinction of  virtue,  and  keeps  alive  the  holy  fire  of  honor 
friendship  and  patriotism.  Has  it.  not  been  proved  that 
refinement  and  luxury  increase,  with  unwearied  assiduity, 
(lie  vices  and  miseries  of  man?  and  may  it  not  be  demon- 
strated that  they  would  eventually  destroy  the  human  fa- 
mily from  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  One  thousand  years  of  calm 
uninterrupted  peace  would  nearly  depopulate  the  globe. 

Somebody.  You  are  fond  of  paradoxes:  how  can  war, 
which  destroys  men  by  thousands,  operate  as  the  means 
of  their  preservation? 

Savage.  In  the  same  manner  that  amputation  of  a  limb 
may  pre  vent  the  mortification  of  the  whole  body,  and  save 
the  life  of  a  man  who  is  wounded.  The  stroke  of  light- 
ning that  kills  one  may  preserve  the  life  of  a  million; 
and  the  earthquake  which  destroys  a  city  may  save  a 
continent  from  desolation.  War,  by  arresting  the  progress 
of  those  arts  which  brutalize  the  human  family,  may 
stretch  out  the  period  of  its  existence;  but  the  time  must 
W 


254  THE    SAVAGE. 

come  when  men  shall  be  no  more:  and  their  extinction 
will  be  occasioned  by  the  progress  of  civilization. 

Somebody.  Whatever  you  may  say,  I  cannot  conceive 
that  it  is  your  serious  opinion,  that  civilization  is  really 
an  evil. 

Savage.  What  is  civilization?  It  would  be  difficult  to 
give  a  satisfactory  definition  of  the  term:  but  what  I  mean 
by  the  expression  may  be  easily  understood.  I  use  it  as 
a  general  term  to  signify  the  progress  of  society  from  the 
simplicity  of  nature  to  the  corrupt  and  factitious  refine- 
ments of  art.  Were  it  possible  for  all  mankind  to  partake 
of  its  unnatural  enjoyments,  it  would  still  be  an  evil;  as  it 
multiplies  the  miseries  even  of  the  superior  ranks  of  so- 
ciety: but  the  fact  is,  its  pleasures  are  confined  to  thefew^ 
while  it  renders  the  many  poor  miserable  and  wicked. 

It  is  true,  that  when  humanity  becomes  extremely  de- 
generated, nature  generally  produces  a  fermentation 
which  purifies  the  mass  of  society,  and  throws  off  the 
dregs  of  corruption.  Men,  in  a  luxurious  age,  are  pre- 
served from  total  annihilation  by  some  barbarous  convul- 
sion, some  savage  agitation,  some  tremendous  commotion, 
which  startles  into  life  the  palsied  energies  of  nature. 
But  still  something  is  lost:  men  never  appear  to  legain 
the  elevation  from  which  they  have  fallen.  Where  is  the 
northern  hive  which  formerly  emitted  swarms  of  haugh- 
ty and  restless  barbarians?  Where  are  the  empires  of 
Asia,  the  kingdoms  of  Africa,  and  the  millions  of  Ameri- 
ca?— They  are  no  more! 


LETTER  II. 

#rem  Chotahowee,  a  warrior  of  the  Cherokee  nation,  to  Piomingo,  a  headmaa 
and  warrior  of  the  Muscogulgee  confederacy. 

Father!  Many  of  our  Cherokees  are  mad:  Blackcoat 
has  taken  away  their  ^enses.  They  neither  plant  corn  in 
the  fields  nor  hunt  for  the  deer  in  the  mountains;  but  spend 
their  time  in  singing  shouting  and  weeping.  When  they 
pray,  they  fall  down  on  their  knees  or  lie  prostrate  in  the 
dust.  They  hold  up  their  hands  and  turn  up  the  whites  of 
their  eyes,  whining  and  begging  for  mercy.  Will  not  the 


THE    SAVAGE.  255 

Great  Spirit  despise  them  for  their  meanness?  Again  they 
leap  on  their  feet  and  dance  furiously,  clapping  their 
hands  and  singing,  "Glory,  Jesus!  glory!  glory!  glory!" 
What  are  our  powwows  and  war  dances?  Nothing:  they 
are  calm  and  tranquil  when  compared  with  these  christian 
amusements.  They  say  all  this  uproar  is  occasioned  by 
the  presence  of  a  good  spirit  in  their  assemblies.  Would 
a  good  spirit  make  people  mad?  would  he  take  away  the 
senses  of  men? 

They  sing  songs  of  praise,  and  call  the  Master  of  our 
breath  great,  good,  holy,  wise,  just,  merciful:  will  not  the 
Great  Spirit  he  displeased  with  their  flattery?  The  great 
OEWA  can  hear  the  thoughts  of  their  hearts  as  well  as 
the  words  of  their  mouths:  will  he  not  be  angry  at  their 
deceit,  fatigued  with  their  noise,  and  turn  away  his  face 
from  their  folly? 

Father!  We  have  had  no  rain  for  two  moons:  no  black 
clouds  rise  up  in  the  west;  nor  cool  breeze  passes  over 
our  land.  The  springs  are  become  dry  in  the  heads  of  the 
valleys;  the  earth  is  laid  open  with  drought;  and  the  corn 
that  was  green  droops  down  and  is  withered.  Our  pro- 
phets, our  priests,  and  holy  men,  wander  over  the  hills  mut- 
tering prayers  to  the  spirits  of  the  air:  they  repeat  their 
sacred  charms  in  the  morning,  and  powwow  at  the  close 
of  the  day.  But  all  in  vain:  they  cannot  awaken  a  breeze 
on  the  river,  or  call  up  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

We  are  no  longer  the  beloved  people  that  we  were. 
Owea  has  forsaken  us;  and  we  are  no  longer  the  objeets 
of  his  fatherly  care:  when  he  returns  again  to  look  for  the 
Cherokees,  they  will  not  be  found.  Once  we  were  a  pow- 
erful nation:  our  warriors  were  terrible;  out  hunters  re- 
turned loaded  with  game;  and  our  prophets  brought  us 
rain  at  the  proper  season.  But  now  a  strange  people  have 
crossed  the  great  water,  and  spread  over  our  country. 
— They  have  seized  upon  our  land;  they  have  cut  down 
our  woods;  they  have  driven  away  our  buffaloes  and  deer. 
They  have  chased  us  from  mountain  to  mountain,  and 
from  river  to  river.  They  have  surrounded  us  with  their 
cities  and  fields,  until  they  have  left  us  no  place  to  which 


256  THE  SAVAGE. 

we  can  fly.  They  have  made  us  as  wicked  and  as  base 
as  themselves:  our  old  men  are  fools;  our  warriors  are 
cowards;  and  our  young  men  are  drunkards.  Our  war 
dances^e  neglected;  our  sacred  songs  are  despised;  and 
our  holy  feasts  are  forgotten. 

Father!  Have  you  read  the  holy  book  of  which  the 
christians  are  so  proud?  Do,  I  beseech  you,  take  out 
some  of  the  talks  and  send  them  to  me.  Does  it  not  give 
directions  how  to  make  gunpowder,  iron  and  rum?  Does 
it  not  teach  how  to  lie,  and  to  steal,  and  to  swear,  and  to 
cheat  the  poor  Indians  out  of  their  land? 

Blackcoat  affirms  that  the  book  leaches  truth  peace 
honesty  kindness;  but  this  cannot  be  the  case,  or  we 
should  not  find  white  men  to  be  such  liars  and  villains 
as  they  are. 

Father!  How  do  you  live  amid  the  smoke  and  noise 
and  stink  of  a  crowded  city?  Come  to  us,  and  taste  the 
sweet  breeze  of  the  forest:  we  will  range  together  over 
hills,  and  lie  down  to  sleep  by  the  fountains.  Is  not 
the  buffalo  superior  to  the  ox?  is  not  the  fleet  buck  more 
lovely  than  the  goat?  and  is  not  the  wild  Indian  of  the 
mountain  ten  thousand  times  more  noble  than  the  tame 
man  of  the  town?  Piomingo!  come  away.  How  can  you 
be  contented  among  the  little  creamcolored  raccoonfoot- 
ed  maulfisted  bandylegged  bigbellied  stoopshouldered 
hunchbacked  wry  necked  thick  lipped  woolly  haired 
bleareyed  doubletongued  people  of  the  town?  May  my 
knife  become  rusty  if  I  do  not  pay  back  your  white 
friends  a  few  compliments  in  return  for  those  they  be- 
stow upon  us!  Shall  they  call  us  savages,  heathens,  bar- 
barians, coppercolored  brutes,  without  receiving  a  few 
appropriate  appellations  in  return?  They  call  themselves 
civilized!  Why?  because  they  are  crammed  together  in 
cities,  labor  like  brutes,  and  burthen  their  bodies  with 
unnecessary  clothes?  If  we  dwell  in  smoky  huts,  we  do 
not,  like  them,  live  surrounded  by  filth  and  inhale  the 
thick  odor  of  corruption.  We  do  not  eat  poisonous  food 
to  make  ourselves  sick,  and  then  eat  poisonous  physic 
to  make  ourselves  well.  We  do  not  wear  the  yoke  of  sla- 


THE   SAVAGE.  £57 

very  nor  groan  beneath  the  lash  of  oppression.  We  do 
not  live,  like  white  men  and  fishes,  by  devouring  each 
other. 

Father,  attend!  I  made  a  journey  last  year  to  the  city 
of  Washington  in  company  with  several  headmen  and 
warriors  of  the  Cherokee  nation;  and  1  made  it  my  bu- 
siness to  pay  particular  attention  to  the  appearances  and 
pursuits  of  the  creamcolored  people.     1  was,  at  first, 
much  amazed  at  the  deformity  of  their  shapes  and  the 
hideous  cast  of  their  countenances;   but  I,  at  last,  came 
to  this  conclusion:  that  incessant  labor  and  the  continual 
practice  of  deceit  had  deformed  their  persons  and  im- 
pressed on  their  faces  that  mixture  of  stupidity  and  ma- 
lignity which  may  be  discovered  by  any  attentive  ob- 
server     Their  unceasing  efforts  to  impose  on  each  other 
has  totally  destroyed  all  the  original  dignity,  candor  and 
simplicity  of  their  nature,  and  produced  a  strange  com- 
position of  folly,  imbecility  and  cunning.   They  hate  each 
other,  with  the  most  virulent  hatred,  yet  they  are  mu- 
tually  dependent:  no  man  can  live  a  day,    scarcely  aR 
hour,  without  receiving  assistance  from  his  fellows. — 
Place  one  of  these  civilized  men  in  the  desert,  and  he 
would  be  as  helpless  as  a  child.     Indeed  they  exhibit  in 
their  conduct  all  the  properties  of  childhood   but  inno- 
cence: they  are  made  miserable  by  the  most  trifling  oc- 
currences; and  they  are  diverted  by  the  most  insignifi- 
cant toys.     The  least  pain  imaginable  occasions  them  to 
utter  the  most  piteous  lamentations;  and  they  are  con- 
vulsed with  idiot  laughter  when  there  is  nothing  to  ex- 
cite the  merriment  of  a  man.     Wherever  we  came  the 
inhabitants  discovered  symptoms  of  childish  curiosity; 
our  persons  excited  their  awkward  astonishment;  and 
our  dress  was  the  object  of  surprise   and  admiration. 
Their  ignorance  is  amazing:  they  appear  to  have  no 
knowledge  of  any  thing  without  the  bounds  of  the  vil- 
lage they  inhabit.     Upon  our  arrival  at  a  tavern,  some 
rustic  booby  would  be  sure  to  proclaim  the  wonderful 
intelligence;  and  in  less  than  five  minutes  we  would  be 
surrounded  by  thirty  or  forty  natives  who  would  regard 
W2 


258  THE   SAVAGE. 

us  with  open  eyes,  gaping  mouths,  and  the  idiot  stare  of 
mental  imbecility.  They  appear  to  have  no  idea  of  po- 
liteness: for  if  they  had,  they  certainly  would  not  treat 
strangers  with  such  glaring  indecorum.  But  they  are 
not  satisfied  with  gazing:  if  they  meet  with  the  small- 
est encouragement,  they  will  proceed  to  handle  our 
arms,  ornaments  and  the  different  parts  of  our  dress. — 
Luckily,  they  are  as  cowardly  as  they  are  insolent:  for 
if  one  of  us  chanced  to.  put  his  hand  to  his  belt  or  to 
take  hold  of  his  rifle,  the  whole  troop  would  start  hack 
with  as  much  precipitation  as  a  man  would  do  at  the  hiss 
of  a  viper  or  the  generous  defiance  of  the  rattlesnake. 

When  a  white  man  arrives  at  one  of  our  villages,  he 
is  received  with  attention  and  respect.  He  is  invited  into 
the  nearest  hut,  and  receives  the  food  of  friendship  and 
the  calumut  of  peace.  We  supply  his  wants,  anticipate 
his  desires,  and  vie  with  each  other  in  extending  to  the 
stranger  the  duties  of  hospitality.  When  w  e  have  offer- 
ed all  those  refreshments  which  his  situation  requires, 
we  make  no  inquiries  relative  to  his  business,  but  spread 
a  couch  for  the  weary  traveller  and  invite  him  to  repose. 
Heis  not  distressed  by  a  muiiitudeof  impertinent  ques- 
tions, "who  are  you?  whence  do  you  come?  whither 
are  you  going?  to  wha'  nation  do  you  belong?  what  is 
your  business?  and  where  did  you  lodge  last  night?" 
He  is  not  incommoded  by  a  crowd  of  insolent  loungers 
pressing  around  him  to  examine  his  person,  his  dress, 
his  arms,  and  accoutrements.  When  he  has  slept  oft 
his  fatigue,  he  may  walk  out  and  examine  the  village: 
wherever  he  goes  he  will  receive  the  salutation  of  love 
and  the  offerings  of  friendship:  every  house  is  open,  and 
every  hand  is  stretched  out  to  receive  him.  He  sees  no 
fences  or  walls  as  impediments  to  his  progress,  or  bolts 
or  locks  which  refuse  him  admittance. 

Piomingo!  Mark  the  contrast! 

When  a  Cherokee  enters  any  town  or  village  in  the 
United  States,  he  is  instantly  surrounded  by  a  troop  of 
ignorant,  insolent  and  malignant  boys  exclaiming,  "An 
Indian!  an  Indian!  there  goes  an  Indian!  Indian,  what's 


THE   SAVAGE.  259 

your  name?  Will  you  shoot  us,  Indian ?"  The  poor  In- 
dian distressed  will)  this  brutal  uproar  and  savage  perse- 
cution, endeavors  to  take  refuge  in  the  first  house  he  can 
find;  hut  admittance  is  sternly  refused,  and  he  is  rudely 
thrust  away  from  the  threshold.  He  goes  from  door  to 
door,  but  no  one  is  found  disposed  to  show  kindness  to 
the  stranger,  to  present  the  cup  of  refreshment  to  his 
lips,  or  spread  t  be  couch  of  repose.  The  Indian  sits  down 
to  rest  on  a  stone  in  the  street;  and  he  takes  out  his  knife 
to  terrify  the  ignorant  and  cowardly  rabble  who  torment 
him.  At  last  some  one,  in  whom  civilization  has  not  to- 
tally extinguished  humanity,  approaches,  and  points  out 
a  tavern  to  which  the  Indian  may  repair.  Here  he  gains 
admittance;  for  the  devH  (Blackcoat  has  given  us  a  de- 
scription of  the  devil)  would  gain  admittance  if  became 
properly  recommended;  but  if  it  be  ascertained  that  the 
Indian  wants  the  proper  recommendation — money — he 
is  hurried  with  precipitation  from  the  only  place  that 
offers  entertainment.  But  even  the  tavern  affords  no  re- 
fuge from  his  persecutors:  he  is  still  insulted  by  stupid 
gazers,  who  distress  him  with  their  questions  and  de- 
vour him  with  their  eyes  as  though  he  had  fallen  from 
the  moon.  If  he  walk  out  for  recreation,  he  is  not  al- 
lowed to  enter  this  man's  garden  or  that  man's  orchard. 
He  is  continually  in  danger  of  trespassing  on  one  fel- 
low's cornfield  or  the  orchard  of  another.  He  must  not 
pluck  a  flower  that  courts  acquaintance  with  his  nose,  or 
stretch  out  his  hand  for  an  apple  that  hangs  over  the  wall. 
He  may  not  make  free  with  a  turnip  or  a  melon  in  the 
field:  and  is  hardly  permitted  to  cut  a  stick  from  a  hedge. 

Father!  You  are  wise.  Tell  me,  I  pray,  which  people 
are  civilized, — the  red  or  the  white? 

Father!  I  send  you  a  very  long  talk,  and  I  could  make 
it  much  longer;  but  I  begin  to  be  afraid  that  your  pa- 
tience will  be  exhausted. 

Piomingo!  May  some  kind  spirit  be  your  patron  and 
your  guide,  and  preserve  you  from  the  clutches  of  that 
horrible  devil,  of  which  Blackcoat  has  given  us,  as  he 
says,  a  faithful  description! 

Farewell.  Chotahowee. 


260  THE    SAVAGE. 

From  this  letter  it  appears  that  savages  when  passing 
through  civilized  countries  are  not  so  unobservant  as  is 
generally  supposed.  It  would  be  strange  if  they  should. 
Shall  they  whose  senses  are  kept  in  a  state  of  vigilant 
activity;  whose  welfare  and  life  depend  on  their  personal 
exertions;  and  who  must,  inconsequence  become  remar- 
kably attentive  to  passing  occurrences — shall  they  imme- 
diately lose  their  habits  of  observation  as  soon  as  they 
enter  the  territories  of  a  polished  nation? 

The  natural  and  unavoidable  effects  of  civilization  are 
to  deprive  men  of  personal  importance,  and  to  make 
them  mutually  dependent  on  each  other.  The  whole  so- 
ciety is  possessed  of  strength  if  it  can  be  brought  to  act 
consentaneously;  but  the  parts  taken  separately  are  con- 
temptibly weak  and  inefficient.  Men,  in  a  civilized  state, 
are  not  allowed  to  exhibit  any  characteristic^]  appear- 
ances of  individuality:  all  distinguishing  prominencies 
disappear  in  consequence  of  the  continual  attrition  of  one 
man  against  another.  In  such  a  state  we  can  do  nothing 
but  what  will  interfere  with  the  actions  and  concerns  of 
others:  in  fact,  we  Have  no  longer  the  liberty  to  act  as 
individuals,  but  as  members  of  the  community. 

Whatever  inclination  a  man  may  retain  to  promote  his 
own  particular  interest,  he  finds  himself  utterly  incapa- 
ble of  effecting  his  purposes  without  the  assistance  of 
others:  consequently  he  must  resign  all  hopes  of  indepen- 
dence, and  consent  to  become  a  member  of  the  great  body 
politic. 

Now  we  are  informed,  by  poets,  philosophers,  histo- 
rians and  various  other  descriptions  of  persons,  that  every 
body  must  be  possessed  of  several  members:  there  are 
head  feet  arms  thighs  legs  and  various  other  organs,  all 
forming  component  parts  of  the  same  individual  body. 
Some  fill  honorable,  and  others  dishonorable  situations. 
Some  aspire  upward  to  the  heavens;  while  others  are 
pressed  downward  upon  the  earth.  There  may  some- 
times, at  first,  be  a  struggle  whether  an  incipient  part 
shall  be  a  hand  or  a  foot,  an  arm  or  a  leg,  a  nose  or  a  tail, 
enter  into  the  composition  of  the  brain  or  form  a  portion 


THE    SAVAGE.  261 

of  the  buttock;  but  when  a  member  has  performed,  for 
any  length  offline,  the  duties  of  one  situation,  it  becomes 
altogether  unlit  to  undertake  those  of  another.  If  we 
assign  to  the  toes  the  function  of  fingers,  something  may 
possibly  be  done;  but  it  will  certainly  be  very  awkwardly 
performed.  Should  we  attempt  to  walk  on  our  hands, 
some  small  progress  may  be  made;  but  what  will  be  the 
consequence?  The  afflictions  of  the  degraded  members 
will  be  too  dreadful  to  be  borne;  and,  the  whole  body- 
will  suffer  inconceivable  hardship  in  consequence  of  the 
unnatural  and  inverted  situation  of  the  parts.  High  things 
are,  not  unfrequenily,  made  low,  and  low  things  exalted', 
the  first  may  sometimes  become  last,  and  the  last  be  made 
first',  but  whenever  this  happens  in  civilized  society,  the 
convulsion  is  tremendous,  and  the  strength  of  the  body 
politic  is  destroyed. 

This  story  is  trite,  Piomingo:  who  has  not  heard  of 
the  rebellion  of  the  members  against  the  sovereignty  of 
the  belly? 

It  is  old,  we  readily  acknowledge:  but  our  readers 
will  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  us,  when  they  consider  the 
difficulty  oi  producing  any  thing  new:  and  indeed  we 
have  heard  it  reported  that  "there  is  nothing  new  un- 
der the  sun;"  all,  thercfoje,  that  can  be  expected  of  us 
is,  that  we  should  arrange  old  things  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  give  the  appearance  of  novelty  to  our  production. 
We  do  not  pretend  to  create:  all  our  merit  consists  in 
new  associations.  We  do  not,  however,  at  present,  mean 
to  make  the  same  use  of  this  apologue,  that  was  made 
of  it  formerly. 

What  then? 

Give  us  your  attention,  and  you  will  probably  discover 
the  scope  we  have  in  view. 

In  the  tirst  place,  we  would  have  you  observe  that 
every  member  acquires  a  habitual  aptitude  to  perform 
those  offices  in  which  it  has  been  long  and  constantly 
employed,  and  becomes  totally  unqualified  for  engaging 
in  those  which  have  been  assigned  toother  parts  of  thQ 
body,     The  foot  becomes  suited 


262  THE    SAVAGE. 

tlic  dust  to  tread; 

the  tongue  to  speak;  the  eye  to  watch;  and  the  hand  to 
grasp.  So  it  is  in  civilized  society:  the  lower  ranks  be- 
come excellent  drudges;  and  the  higher  become  quali- 
fied to  direct  the  operations  of  their  slaves.  The  man 
long  employed  in  public  speaking  delivers  his  senti- 
ments with  fluency;  and  he  who  finds  leisure  and  incli- 
nation to  improve  the  faculties  of  his  mind  is  enabled  to 
make  many  and  important  discoveries.  The  sailor  can 
manage  a  ship;  and  the  soldier  can  handle  his  arms  with 
dexterity.  One  man  can  furnish  the  foot  with  a  shoe; 
another  can  accommodate  the  body  with  a  coat.  One  man 
can  fashion  the  iron  on  an  anvil;  another  can  form  clay 
into  bricks;  and  another  can  budd  stones  into  a  wall. 
Some  handle  the  plane  and  the  saw;  others  turn  up  the 
earth  with  the  plough;  and  others  fell  the  trees  of  the  fo- 
rest. All  these  become  properly  qualified  to  fill  the  place 
they  happen  to  occupy  in  society;  but  become,  at  the 
same  time,  altogether  incapable  of  performing  the  du- 
ties of  any  other  situation.  Were  they  satisfied  with  their 
station,  and  were  the  order  of  society  never  disturbed, 
all  might  be  well;  but  that  is  not  the  case: 

Optat  cphippia  bis  piger,  optat  ararc  cahallns: 

But  the  plough  is  too  heavy  for  the  Arabian  courser; 
and  the  ox  is  too  sluggish  to  go  under  the  saddle,  to  fol- 
low the  hounds  and  second  the  ardor  of  the  huntsman. 

U  is  unnecessary  to  proceed  with  thisenumeration:  As 
civilization  progresses  employments  are  more  and  more 
divided;  and  the  operations  of  an  individual  are  circum- 
scribed and  contracted.  Personal  importance  is  continu- 
ally diminished;  and  men  become  more  and  more  dis- 
qualified for  every/situation  but  that  which  they  fill  in 
society.  Mind  becomes  less  and  less  necessary  to  direct 
them  in  their  pursuits;  and  they  approach  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  nature  of  machines. 

It  has  been  a  standing  complaint  against  comparisons 
that  they  will  not. go  o?i  all  jours:  though  we  see,  at  one 
glance,  many  points  of  resemblance,  we  afterwards  find 
others  that  are  by  no  means  sufficiently  similar  to  an- 


THE    SAVAGE.  263 

swer  the  purpose  of  illustration.  We  have  run  a  paral- 
lel between  the  body  of  an  animal  and  civilized  society: 
and,  although  we  have  found  a  striking  likeness  in  many 
particulars,  there  are  others  that  do  not  exhibit  simili- 
tude. The  hand,  the  eye,  the  Coot,  appear  to  be  de- 
signed by  nature  for  the  place  they  occupy  in  the  ani- 
mal machine;  but  in  a  polished  community,  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  are  degraded  by  the  progress  of 
refinement  to  a  state  of  brutality,  whom  nature  designed 
to  he  men. 

Dr.  Franklin,  or  somebody  else,  has  given  us  the  com- 
plaint of  the  Left  Hand.  The  Left  Hand  gives  an  ac- 
count of  the  neglect  she  had  experienced  from  those  who 
had  the  charge  of  her  education,  and  of  the  unjust  par- 
tiality which  had  been  shown  to  her  sister.  Just,  but 
unavailing,  was  her  remonstrance:  the  Left  Hand  is  still 
suffered  to  grow  up  in  ignorance;  while  the  Right  (to 
whom  nature  has  not  been  more  bountiful  than  to  her- 
self) boasts  proudly  of  her  cunning  and  address.  Such  is 
the  fate  of  men:  probably  one  in  a  thousand  has  the  op- 
portunity of  cultivating  his  faculties  and  exercising,  in 
their  due  proportions,  the  powers  of  his  body  and  his 
mind,  while  the  nine  hundred  ninety  and  nine  are  com- 
pelled, by  the  absurd  and  unjust  institutions  of  society, 
to  confine  all  their  exertions  to  a  point,  and  suffer  the 
other  capabilities  of  their  nature  to  lie  dormant  or  be- 
come totally  extinct. 

Well,  Piomingo,  so  it  ought  to  be:  there  must  be  men 
of  different  kinds,  suited  to  the  various  grades  of  society; 
and  their  education  should  be  such  as  best  qualifies  them 
for  the  station  they  are  destined  to  occupy  in  the  com- 
munity. 

My  friend,  such  is  not  our  opinion:  we  believe  that 
those  regulations  are  cruel  and  unjust  which  debilitate 
the  body  and  cramp  the  exertions  of  the  mind.  Can  that 
system  of  society  be  proper  for  man,  which  prevents  the 
development  of  his  powers!  Are  those  regulations  well 
suited  to  direct  the  conduct  of  a  rational  being  which 
confine  the  energies  of  his  mind  to  the  making  of  a  hob- 


264  THE    SAVAGE. 

nail  or  manufacturing  the  head  of  a  pin?  Can  a  being  pos- 
sessed of  reasoning  powers,  and  who  seems  to  have  heen 
designed  by  nature  to  vary  his  conduct  aecoiding  to  cir- 
cumstances, be  properly  employed  in  performing  a  few 
mechanical  motions,  which,  becoming  habitual,  are  con- 
tinued without  the  trouble  of  thought  or  the  necessity  of 
reflection?  Can  a  being  endowed  \\\\\imhul  he  designed 
to  stand  as  a  statue  in  a  niche  of  the  great  budding  of  so- 
ciety, without  the  power  of  altering  its  sit  nation  or  chang- 
ing its  position?  Would  not  the  constitution  of  society 
be  infinitely  preferable,  if  it  exerted  the  powers,  called 
forth  the  latent  endowments,  and  added  importance  to 
the  individual?  Is  it  enough  that  a  person  should  become 
a  necessary  member  of  that  greatest  of  monsters,  a  civil- 
ized community,  without  any  regard  being  paid  to  his 
dignity  as  a  man — to  his  perfection  as  a  rational  being* 

May  not  the  great  body  politic  sutler  a  dislocation  of 
its  parts?  May  not  a  thousand  accidents  occasion  a  dis- 
solution of  this  unnaturally  constructed  machine?  And  if 
this  should  happen,  the  disjointed  parts  are  mere  inutile 
lignum,  totally  unfit  for  any  valuable  purpose,  but  exact- 
ly calculated  to  produce  anarchy,  horror,  destruction. 

From  the  foregoing  observations  we  infer  that  those 
who  till  the  lower  ranks  of  civilized  society,  however 
necessary  in  their  places,  are  less  important,  as  indi- 
viduals, than  savages;  and  we  also  infer  that  savages  are 
better  qualified  to  make  judicious  observations  on  pass- 
ing occurences  than  are  those  who  compose  the  mass  of 
the  enlightened  population  of  the  United  States. 

In  a  savage  slate  every  man  depends  upon  himself: 
he  erects  his  own  hut,  manufactures  his  own  dress,  and 
provides  for  his  household  the  necessary  subsistence. 
His  pursuits  are  various,  and  well  calculated  to  give 
strength  and  pliancy  to  his  limbs,  and  acuteness  of  ob- 
servation to  his  mind. 

In  such  a  state,  no  man  is  compelled  by  circumstances 
to  become  the  fool  or  tail,  the  drudge  or  slave,  of  the 
community.  He  becomes  important  and  valuable  as  an 
individual;  and  is  qualified  to  give  himself  protection 


THE    SAVAGE.  265 

and  support,  though  every  other  man  in  the  universe 
were  annihilated. 

We  sometimes  hear  savages  described  as  timid  and 
miserable  beings,  trembling  on  account  of  the  roaring 
of  the  waters,  shuddering  at  the  violence  of  the  storm, 
and  struck  wilh  horror  at  the  voice  of  the  thunder.  They 
are  represented  as  the  slaves  of  imaginary  gods,  and  the 
victims  of  visionary  dangers.  They  are  said  to  fly  before 
the  beasts  of  the  desert,  and  to  quake  at  a  rustling  among 
the  leaves!  Such  are  the  opinions  of  philosophers;  who 
reside  in  cities,  who  write  concerning  savages  they  ne- 
ver have  seen,  and  who  stigmatize  every  nation,  whose 
manners  they  do  not  understand,  with  the  name  of  bar- 
barians. But  where  are  the  reasons  on  which  they  are 
founded?  Is  the  man,  who  has  been  long  accustomed  to 
contemplate  the  raging  of  the  waters,  easily  terrified  by 
the  dashing  of  the  waves?  Shall  he,  who  has  often  expe- 
rienced the  utmost  fury  of  the  storm,  be  frightened  at 
the  approach  of  a  cloud,  shudder  at  the  flashes  of  light- 
ning, or  tremble  at  the  rolling  of  the  thunder?  Shall  he 
who  has  become  acquainted  with  his  own  powers,  and 
has  been  taught  to  depend  on  his  personal  exertions, 
shrink  at  the  approach  of  the  panther  or  dread  the  howl- 
ing of  wolves  in  the  wilderness?  Shall  he  who  has 
been  taught  to  meet  every  danger  with  courage,  and  to 
suffer  every  evil  with  fortitude — shall  he  shrink  from 
the  conflict  of  war?  No:  it  is  civilization  makes  cowards. 
Men  long  accustomed  to  lean  on  each  other  are  terrified 
the  moment  they  lose  this  support.  The  least  derange- 
ment in  the  political  machine  drives  them  out  of  their 
places,  and  discovers  their  weakness  and  personal  insig- 
nificancy. Shall  they  who  have  never  learned  to  depend 
on  themselves  face  danger  with  courage,  or  discover  re- 
solution when  surrounded  with  unusual  occurrences? 

Our  friend  Chotahowee  observes  in  one  of  his  letters 

(which  we   have  thought  proper  to  suppress)  that,  in 

his    travels   through    the  United  States,    wherever   he 

found  a  man  alone,  that  man  was  civil,  quiet  and  timid; 

X 


266  THE  SAVAGE. 

but  where  he  fouud  an  assemblage  of  men,  they  never 
failed  to  be  noisy,  tumultuous  and  insolent. 

We,  savages,  delight  in  society:  but  we  associate  as 
men,  free  sovereign  and  independent.  We  are  not  bound 
together  by  the  iron  bands  of  necessity,  and  deprived  of 
the  dignity  of  our  nature.  Our  friendships  are  the  result 
of  inclination,  and  not  combinations  for  the  propagation 
of  vice.  As  every  one  depends  on  himself,  we  have  no 
motive  to  impose  on  each  other. 

Savage  society,  if  considered  as  a  body,  has  no  mem- 
bers  condemned  to  drudgery  and  disgrace,  no  "vessels 
created  for  dishonor,"  no  left  hand  uneducated  and  ne- 
glected, no  broad  flat  foot  condemned  to  trudge  under 
the  weight  of  an  overgrown,  corrupt  and  luxurious  belly. 
No:  l.ke  Milton's  spirits, 

All   heart  they  live,  all  Lead,  all  eye,  all  ear, 
All  intellect,  all  sense. — 

Any  man,  who  will  travel  over  this  continent  and  at- 
tentively observe  the  inhabitants,  will  see  enough  to  cor- 
roborate our  remarks:  he  will  find  that  the  laborious  in- 
habitants of  populous  cities,  though  expert  in  their  seve- 
ral professions,  are  unfit  for  any  other  employment  but 
that  which  they  pursue.  He  will  perceive  that  those  who 
labor  in  the  country  in  the  vicinity  of  cities  are  rather 
more  intelligent  than  the  drudges  of  the  city:  the  sphere 
of  their  operations  is  considerably  enlarged,  and,  con- 
sequently, their  individual  importance  is  increased. 
When  the  observer  removes  to  the  frontier  settlements, 
he  will  find  man  still  higher  advanced  in  the  scale  of  in- 
tellectual importance.  He  not  only  attends  to  the  com- 
mon business  of  his  farm,  and  prepares  subsistence  for 
his  family,  but  he  transacts  an  infinite  variety  of  busi- 
ness: he  makes  his  instruments  of  husbandry;  he  is  fre- 
quently his  own  tailor,  shoemaker,  blacksmith  and  car- 
penter: his  employments  are  ever  varied;  and  the  pow- 
ers of  his  mind  are  exerted  in  proportion  to  the  multi- 
tiplicity  of  his  operations.  Must  not  such  a  man  be  infi- 
nitely superior  to  one  who   is  continually  employed  in 


THE    SAVAGE.  267 

throwing  a  shuttle,  threading  a  needle,  beating  an  anvil, 
or  even  driving  a  quill  over  parchment? 

Uui  if  you  wish  to  have  a  still  more  favorable  speci- 
men of  human  nature,  you  must,  take  a  jaunt  to  the  wil- 
derness: you  must  study  the  languages  and  customs  of 
savages  -but  do  not  eondemn  before  you  understand. 


STORY  TELUNC-. 

It  requires  a  considerable  portion  of  ingenuity  to  tell 
a  story  in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce  the  desired  ef- 
fect on  the  auditors.  Many  excellent  stories  have  been 
murdered  by  unskilful  narrators,  who  bring  forward  the 
different  parts  at  improper  times,  introduce  extraneous 
matter,  dwell  on  trivial  incidents,  and  sometimes  omit 
the  most  important  circumstances. 

A  man,  by  long  practice,  may  no  doubt  improve  his 
talent  for  this  species  of  narration;  but  we  are  inclined 
to  believe  that,  unless  nature  have  given  him  a  genius 
for  the  employment,  he  will  never  excel  as  a  teller  of 
stories. 

In  all  tales  of  a  comic  description,  the  narrator  should 
be  careful  to  place  the  ludicrous  incidents  in  a  conspi- 
cuous situation,  and  to  exhibit  advantageously  the  point 
on  which  the  humor  of  the  story  may  depend.  For  want 
of  attention  to  these  circumstances,  a  jest  intrinsically 
good,  instead  of  receiving  the  plaudits  and  exciting  the 
laughter  of  the  hearers,  has  frequently  been  answered 
by  yawning  and  derision. 

But  it  may  also  be  observed  that  much  depends  on  the 
countenance  and  gestures,  as  well  as  on  the  words,  of  the 
speaker:  We  heard  A.  give  an  account  of  a  laughable 
occurrence,  which  had  lately  taken  place.  A.  was  re- 
warded by  reiterated  peals  of  laughter:  every  one  pro- 
nounced it  an  excellent  thing.  Shortly  after,  we  heard 
the  same  story  told  by  B.  in  nearly  the  same  words;  but 
no  mirth  was  occasioned  by  a  detail  of  circumstances, 
Which  had  lately  excited  such  high  merriment  and  com- 
manded such  unbounded  applause.   We  were  at  first  dis- 


268  .  THE    SAVAGE. 

posed  to  account  for  these  dissimilar  effects,  by  reflect- 
ing that  the  tale,  at  the  time  it  was  told  by  B.,  did  not 
possess  the  same  novelty  that  it  did  when  first  delivered 
by  A.  But  having  an  opportunity,  in  the  course  of  a 
lew  weeks,  to  hear  A.  teli  the  same  story  another  time, 
we  were  as  highly  delighted  as  at  first:  nay,  we  thought 
the  detail  more  amusing  than  ever. 

What  were  the  qualificationsof  A.  which  enabled  him 
so  far  to  exceed  B.  in  telling  a  ludicrous  story? — A  hook- 
ed nose,  a  peaked  chin,  and  a  bushy  pair  of  eyebrows! 
Let  no  one,  whose  countenance  is  pleasing  and  whose 
face  is  symmetrically  formed,  aspire  to  excellence  as  a 
retailer  of  jests. 

But  all  stories  are  not  of  a  diverting  nature.  To  many 
we  listen  out  of  mere  complaisance  to  the  speaker;  and 
to  many  we  attend  for  the  sake  of  a  little  sober  informa- 
tion we  are  desirous  to  obtain.  In  the  delivery  of  these, 
any  one  may  succeed  who  is  capable  of  giving  a  dear 
and  succinct  narrative  of  the  principal  occurrences, 
omitting  all  superfluous  explanations,  and  the  tedious  de- 
tail of  impertinent  circumstances.  Few,  however,  are 
the  number  who  are  posessed  of  the  qualifications  we 
have  mentioned.  It  is  as  easy  to  find  an  epic  poet  capa- 
ble of  producing  a  poem  that  will  fix  the  attention  and 
awaken  the  passions,  as  to  find  a  man  who  can  tell  a  sim- 
ple story,  without  introducing  unnatural  episodes  and  in- 
terlarding it  with  absurd  and  unnecessary  explanations. 

Dick  Gabble,  when  about  to  ride  into  the  country,  de- 
clared his  intention  of  being  in  town  again  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  same  day.  He  did  not,  however,  return  till  a 
late  hour  on  the  day  following.  As  there  had  been  a 
considerable  fall  of  rain,  we  unfortunately  happened  to 
enquire  if  that  had  been  the  cause  of  his  detention;  and, 
in  consequence,  were  obliged  to  listen  to  the  following 
elegant  but  tedious  reply. 

Detained  by  the  rain!  no:  I  believe  not,  my  boy.  I'm 
neither  sugar  nor  salt:  the  rain  can't  melt  me.  When  I 
set  out  with  a  determined  resolution,  d'ye  see!  I'm 
not  to  be  stopped,  by  wind  or  tide,  d'ye  see?  I'm  the 
fellow  to  dash  through  thick  and  thin — rain,  hail,  snow, 


THE    SAVAGE.  569 

or  (Vatjer:  ail  alike  to  me,  sir.  Damnation!  d'ye 
suppose  I  care  for  the  rain!  If  it  was  10  rain  brickbats, 
pitchfork*,  hell  tire,  and  milstones,  it  would'nt  stop  me. 
I  rode  sixty-eight  miles  the  coldest  day  we  bad  last  win- 
ter: a  hell  of  a  cold  day!  Don't  you  remember  it?  It  was 
on  Monday,  I  think — no,  Tuesday  —  let  me  see:  On 
Sunday  the  snow  fell:  that  great  snow,  you  remember; 
On  Monday  I  rode  to  Downingslown;   on  Tuesday  to 

Lancaster;  and  on  Wednesday yes,  yes,  it  was  on 

Wednesday,  I    am  certain    of  the  fact  now:  it    was  on 
Wednesday. 

Well,  sir,  on  Wednesday  morning,  it  blew  and  snowed 
and  hailed  and  froze  like  the  devil.  I  opened  the  door 
and  looked  out — by  G —  I  was  frightened.  ^Damnation," 
says  I  lo  the  landlord,  "Mr,  Touchpenny!  look  here, 
Mr.  Touchpenny!  What  sort  of  weather's  this  we  have 
got?  Hell's  broke  loose,  Mr.  Touchpenny !" 

However,  sir,  I  ordered  out  my  horse,  d'ye  see? 
"What!1'  said  Mr.  Touchpenny,  uare  you  mad,  Mr. 
Gabble?  you  would'nt  think  of  riding  such  a  day  as  this, 
Mr.  Gabble?"  "Yes,"  says  I,  "I'll  go,"  says  I,  "by 
G — ,*'  says  I,  "damn  me  if  I  don't,"  says  I.  "Lord  bless 
my  soul,  Mr  Gabble!"  says  old  mother  Touchpenny, 
"would  you  leave  a  good  convenient  house,  Mr.  Gab- 
ble? and  a  warm  tiresidc,  Mr.  Gabble?  and  every  thing 
comfortable,  Mr.  Gabble?  and  go  for  to  think  for  to  go 
out  such  a  day  as  this,  Mr.  Gabble?  such  a  dreadful  day 
Mr.  Gabble!  My  dear  child,  you  can't  think  of  such  a 
thing!  You'll  be  froze  up  alive.  I  should  not  be  able  to 
sleep  for  a  week,  if  you  were  to  leave  my  house  such  a 
day  as  this,  Mr.  Gabble.  You  can't  be  in  earnest,  Mr. 
Gabble?"  "I  have  said  the  word,"  says  I,  "madam," 
says  I;  "and  my  word's  as  good  as  my  bond,"  says  F. 
"I'll  go,"  says  I,  "if  ten  thousand  devils  were  to  rise," 
says  I,  '-and  spurt  the  blue  blazes  of  hell  in  my  face," 
says  I,  "Tom!  fetch  out  my  horse."  "Bless  my  stars, 
Mr.  Gabble!"  says  Mrs.  Touchpenny,  "you  are  the 
strangest  man,  Mr.  Gabble,  that  ever  I  saw  in  my  born 
days,  Mr.  Gabble. — But,  my  dear  child,  you  shall  not 
X2 


270  THE    SAVAGE. 

stir — I  insist  upon  it — till  you  have  taken  a  mouthful 
of  something  to  keep  the  cold  from  your  stomach.  You 
shall  have  a  cup  of  warm  coffee  in  a  moment,  Mr.  Gab- 
ble.    Molly,  fetch  in  breakfast." 

I  took  the  old  lady's  advice.  I  guzzled  a  few  dishes  of 
coffee,  devoured  a  few  pounds  of  beefsteaks,  punished 
half  a  dozen  of  eggs,  and  was  off  like  a  thunder  gust. 

Well,  sir,  d'ye  see  sir?  before  sundown  sir,  and  that 
very  same  day  sir,  I  was  at  home  in  Philadelphia  sir — 
mark  that  sir! 

"At  home!" 

At  home,  by  G — ! 

By  this  time,  as  our  readers  will  readily  believe,  we 
repented  of  having  asked  the  imprudent  question,  above 
mentioned.  We,  therefore,  endeavored  to  move  off, 
merely  saying,  as  we  started,  "Dick,  you  are  a  man  of 
resolution.  Good  bye."  But  our  manoeuvre  was  unsuc- 
cessful: as  soon  as  he  perceived  our  intention  of  decamp- 
ing, he  seized  us  by  the  arm,  saying,  uStop,  sir,  I  have 
not  yet  told  you  how  I  was  detained  yesterday — a 
damned  good  thing — make  you  laugh  like  the  devil." 

"True  sir,  I  had  forgotten:  please  to  proceed." 

Well  sir,  so  it  was  sir,  yesterday  morning.  I  set  off: 
you  saw  me  set  off.  A  very  pleasant  morning — high  spi- 
rits. Always  am— always  am  in  high  spirits — take  the 
world  easy — laugh  and  grow  fat.  It's  the  best  way — a'nt 
it  Piomingo?  Damn  me  if  I  don't  think  it  is.  Nothing 
troubles  me,  hardly:  I  was  a  little  fretted,  to  be  sure, 
when  I  lost  that  race  on  the  Hummingbird — five  hundred 
dollars  at  one  slap — a  damned  hard  stroke  that,  Piomin- 
go. A  few  such  swings  as  that  would  fetch  Jack— dam- 
me if  'twouldn't  d'ye  see?  Well,  upon  my  soul,  I  never 
could  understand  that  business  perfectly.  I  still  think 
that  the  Hummingbird  can  beat  old  Turf's  mare — by  the 
Lord  I  do.  I'll  bet  the  same  money  over  again — have 
every  thing  fair — have  "good  judges,  you  .see,  and  every 
thing  fair  and  above  board,  you  see:  I'll  bet  the  same 
sum  over  again — the  very  same  race — by  G — I  will. 

"But  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  purpose,  Mr.  Gabble; 
you  have  not  answered  my  question." 


: 


3 


THE   SAVAGE.  271 

s,  yes,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was:  It's  a  good  thing,  a 
very  good  thing,  Piomingo.  I  started  off  in  the  morning, 
you  know  I  did,  quite  briskly — went  over  the  hills  in  a 
j>j[y--no  accasion  for  whip  or  spur  to  my  black  filly. 
She's  as  good  a  piece  of  horse  flesh  as  ever  wa&foalded 
— I'll  be  teetotally  damned  if  she  an't.  She's  a  blooded 
thing  too — one  of  Bonaparte's  best  foals — out  of  colonel 
Sport's  Flycatcher — descended  in  a  right  line  from  the 
prince  of  Wale's  Arabian  mare,  Camilla,  and  the  cele- 
brated Childers. 

"Doubtless,  the  line   of  her  ancestry  may  be  traced 
back  to  one  of  the  prophet  Mahommed's  best  breeders, 
ut  come  to  the  point  Dicky:  do  come  to  the  point." 

Yes  sir,  I  rode  like  a  whirlwind — was  up  at  the  Buck 

less  than  no  time — had  my  my  mare  put  up  and  fed — 
always  see  to  my  horse.     A  man  that  don't  take  care  of 
his  horse  should  be  damned.  That's  my  motion;  what  do 
ou  say,  Piomingo? 

"What,  damned?" 

Yes,  damned.  Pd  build  a  hell  myself  to  damn  him  in. 
What!  not  take  care  of  his  horse!  a  savage!  a  Turk!  an 
infidel! — I'd  send  him  howling  to  the  north  corner 
of  hell;  by  the  god  of  war  I  would.  I,  for  my  part  sir, 
upon  my  honor  sir,  would  rather  suffer  myself  than  al- 
low my  horse  to  want  that  that's  good  and  comfortable. 
It's  my  nature  sir,  my  compassionate  disposition.  If  it's 
a  weakness,  I  can't  help  it:  It's  natural  to  me. 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  your  humanity;  but  I  beseech  thee 
Dick,  dispense  with  these  collateral  circumstances,  and 
proceed  with  your  story." 

Yes  sir,  O  yes:  certainly  I  shall  proceed  rapidly.  I 
shall  be  done  in  a  few  minutes.  Having  disposed  of  my 
horse  sir,  1  proceeded  immediately  to  business,  and  a 
anda  and  had  every  thing  concluded  in  a  very  little  time. 
Well  sir,  just  as  1  was  preparing  to  return  home,  who 
should  come  in  but  Bob  Jockey.  You  know  Bob? 

"No." 

Damn  it,  you  must  know  him,  if  you  were  ever  in 
that  neighborhood:  he's   a  stoopshouldered,   thickset, 


272"  THE    SAVAGE. 

crosslooking  little  devil — has  little  gray  eyes,  Roman 
nose,  and  a  hell  of  a  big  mouth.  He  married  old  Slump's 
daughter — a  cursed  old  miser,  that  Stump.  If  you  were 
to  see  him,  you  would  think  he  wasn't  worth  a  cent  — 
looks  like  a  beggar — lives  like  a  hog — damned  old  brute 
— rich  though — rich  as  a  Jew — wish  he  was  in  Abra- 
ham's bosom,  and  I  had  the  cash.  When  Bob  Jockey 
nabbed  Peggy  Stump,  he  thought  he  had  made  a  speck, 
d'ye  see,? — thought  to  finger  some  of  the  old  man's  ready. 
But  let  old  Stump  alone  tor  that:  hell  take  care  of  num- 
ber one,  d'ye  see?  Bob  got  a  wife:  and  that's  all.  She's  a 
sweet  girl  though  — loves  to  be  squeezed  damnably — 
used  to  squeeze  her  myself — kissed  her  before  ever  Bob 
did — shouldn't  mind  it  now  if  1  had  an  opportunity.  Old 
Stump  had  seven  daughters — fine  girls — slippery  jades 
some  of  them — all  married  but  one — she's  the  oldest — 
wrinkled  as  a  witch — cross  as  damnation — knows  she 
must  lead  apes  in  hell— fond  of  cats  now — cats  fond  of 
her  too — birds  of  a  feather — Zounds!  how  I  used  to 
romp  with  these  girls — can  tell  you  a  damned  good  story 
about  one  of  them:  One  day 

"O  curse  the  story,"  cried  we,  quite  exhausted,  "Will 
you  never  have  done  with  old  Stump  and  his  daughters? 
But  Dick,  my  dear  fellow,  you  must  excuse  me  at  pre- 
sent. Some  other  time  I  will  hear  ihe  rest  of  your  ad- 
ventures: this  evening  I  am  particularly  engaged."  But 
Gabble  seized  us  by  the  breast  of  our  coat  and  swore 
bitterly  we  should  not  move  till  he  had  finished  his 
story. 

The  gods  themselves,  some  ancient  writer  observes, 
are  subject  to  necessity:  and  a  savage, 

—  magna  si  licet  coniponere  parvis  — 

who  resides  in  a  civilized  country,  must  learn  to  dissem- 
ble his  feelings,  and  wear  a  smile  on  his  countenance 
while  anguish  preys  on  his  heart.  We  saw  the  necessity 
of  yielding  to  circumstances,  but  could  not  forbear  ex- 
claiming in  the  words  of  Horace  when  persecuted  by  an 
impudent  babbler  in  the  streets  of  Rome: 

Huccine  solem 
Tarn  nigrum  surrcxe  tniuil 


THE    SAVAGE.  273 

But  we  reflected  on  a  saying  of  Socrates,  when  torment- 
ed by  the  humors  of  his  termagant  wife:  "We  all  have 
our  respective  misfortunes;  and  he  is  a  happy  man  who 
can  complain  of  none  greater  than  this."  Having  thus 
sagaciously  subdued  our  rising  emotions,  we  requested 
little  Gable  to  finish  the  recitfl  of  his  adventures. 

So  sir,  as  I  was  preparing  to  come  away,  Bob  Jockey 
made  his  appearance.  Not  having  seen  each  other  for 
some  months,  we  conversed  a  few  minutes  on  various 
matters.  He  told  me  that  a  mad  dog  had  bitten  several 
of  his  cattle,  and 

"Never  mind  the  mad  dog.  If  you  wander  so  often 
from  the  track,  you  never  will  arrive  at  the  end  of  your 
journey." 

Faith  sir,  the  story  about  the  dog  is  a  very  curious 
story,  and  ought  to  be  universally  known;  but  I'll  pass 
it  over  for  the  present.  Well  sir,  Bob  called  for  a  glass 
of  brandy  and  water,  and  asked  me  to  drink,  you  see.  I 
complied;  for  I  like  to  be  social  and  friendly:  don't  you, 
Piomingo? 

"Yes.  Proceed." 

"When  he  had  finished  the  glass.  1  called  for  another 
—  I  couldn't  be  worse  than  a  bad  fellow,  you  see — no, 
no,  that  would  never  do;  one  good  turn  deserves  ano- 
ther. Dick  Gabble  will  pay  his  part  wherever  he  goes. 
I  hate  a  sneaking,  sponging  devil:  don't  you,  Piomingo? 

"Certainly.   Proceed." 

Well  sir,  we  had  three  or  four  glasses — I  don't  exact- 
ly remember  how  many  though — probably  half  a  dozen 
— say  half  a  dozen  glasses.  Let  me  see — first  we  had 
one,  then  I  had  another,  and 

"Nevermind:  say  half  a  dozen." 

Very  well  sir:  we'll  say  half  a  dozen.  And  so  sir,  by 
this  time  you  see  sir,  we  grew  pretty  warm,  you  see; 
and  Bob  began  to  brag  of  his  horses.  Bob  has  some  little 
knowledge  of  horse  flesh — not  much  though — knows 
enough  to  be  roguish — would  be  a  damned  rogue  if  he 
could.  "  Pflere's  my  little  horse  at  the  gate,"  j-ays  Bob, 
gays  he,  "he  can  beat  any  thing,  for  a  quarter,  in  the  thir- 


274  THE    SAVAGE. 

teen  Untied  Sta'es  of  Pennsylvania,  carry  weight  for 
size,  I'll  be  dec- doubly  damned  if  lie  can't.'1  'Til  run 
you,"  says  I,  ua  quarter,  my  black  filly  against  your 
horse,  for  five  dollars,  not  if  you  will,  but  if  you  dare," 
says  I.  "Done,"  says  he,  "you  carry  a  hundred  weight 
to  a  catch."  "A  catch,  upon  each,"  says  I,  "smack  my 
hand  if  you  dare."  "Done,"  says  he,  "by  G — ,"  says 
he, — "pony  down  your  dust — fetch  out  your  mare." 
"Done,"  says  I,  "hell  to  the  flincher."  Out  to  the  race 
ground — every  thing  ready — judges  appointed — go — 
•'The  black  filly  had  the  start,"  says  one. — "The  horse 
gains,"  says  another — "Ten  dollars  on  the  horse,"  says 
Tom  Siubbs;  "say  done,  and  it's  a  bet." — "Done,"  says 
Bill  Grubb,  "If  I  don't  win  I'll  be  damned.  'She  han- 
dles her  feet  dacentlyS  says  Faddy  OBlather. — 'Two 
to  one  on  the  mare,'  says  young  Dobbins,  "two  to  one  on 
the  mare.  I'll  give  you  two  hundred  dollars  for  the  black 
filly,  Gabble — Gad  she's  foremost — let's  go  and  see  how 
it  is.'  'Judges,  how  is  the  race?'  'The  filly  came  out 
first.5  'How  much?'  'A  length.'  'She  had  the  start,' 
says  Bob.  'Only  a  neck,7  says  I;  'but  let  the  judges 
determine;  we  have  nothing  to  say  in  the  business,'  says 
I.  That's  my  way,  Piomingo:  I'm  fair  and  above  board 
with  every  thing.  I  practise  none  of  your  sneaking  quirks 
and  tricks:  I'm  above  it,  you  see. 

'Well,  what  said  the  judges?' 

They  gave  it  in  my  favor.  O,  I  won  it  sleek  enough, 
but  what  do  you  think?  When  I  went  to  the  man  who 
held  the  stakes,  'give  me  the  money,'  says  I.  'He 
shan't,'  says  Bob;  'I  didn't  lose  it,'  says  he,  Til  have 
it,  by  G — ,'  says  I.  'Damned  if  you  shall,'  says  he. 
'Didn't  the  judges  give  it  in  my  favor!'  says  1.  'They, 
were  partial,'  says  he.  'You're  a  damned  rascal,'  says  I. 
'You're  a  damned  liar,'  says  he.  Smack  1  took  him, 
between  the  lug  and  the  horn,  as  Julius  did  the  bull — 
down  he  fell — and  I  upon  him,  The  damned  rascal,  to 
give  me  the  lie!  By  G —  sir,  no  man  shall  give  me  the 
lie  with  impunity.  I  didn't  care  the  hundredth  part  of  a 
damn  for  the  money,  but  when  a  fellow  goes  to  jockey 


THE   SAVAGE.  275 

me,  d'ye  see? — and  gives  me  the  lie  1o  boot,  d'ye  see? 
I'd  right  sir,  by  the  god  of  war,  I'd  fight  for  the  thou- 
sandth part  of  a  cent,  I  would.  My  name's  Dick  Gabble 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  my  name.  I  may  be  whipped; 
but  1  can't  be  cowed — can't  can't — damn  me,  it's  im- 
possible: there's  no  such  thing  in  nature.  I'm  but  a  lit- 
tle fellow;  but  I  wouldn't  turn  tail  to  never  a  man  that 
broke  the  bread  of  life,  I  wouldn't:  not  I. 

'Did  you  flog  him?' 

No:  they  parted  us — I'd  have  kicked  him  like  damnna- 
tion,  if  they  had'nt  parted  us — did  give  him  a  damned 
black  eye — didn't  hurt  me  at  all — didn't  get  a  scratch — 
takes  a  damned  smart  fellow  to  scratch  me.  I  tell  you. 

'You  are  an  active  little  dog,  I  dare  say.' 

That  lam — am  indeed — got  a  strong  arm,  I  tell  you. 
Then,  I  have  such  springs — Gad!  I'm  as  quick  as  light- 
ning. A  fellow  has  need  to  have  all  his  eyes  about  him 
when  he's  got  me  to  deal  with,  you  see;  if  he  has'nt  I'll 
be  damned. 

'Then  you  are  spirited  also.' 

True  blue,  by  G — !  I'd  right  the  devil  and  all  his  imps. 
— Roar  thunder,  blaze  hell,  blow  damnation!  here  I  am, 
Dick  Gabble  for  ever! 

'You  knocked  him  down  the  first  stroke, did  you?' 

Yes,  yes,  I  did;  damme  if  I  didn't,  sir;  like  a  shot, 
sir.  Hold  here,  Piomingo,  I'll  show  you  how  I  took  him 
the  first  clip. 

'There  is  no  necessity  for  an  example,  I  understand 
it  perfectly.     What!  do  you  mean  to  strike  me?' 

Just  give  you  a  light  touch,  Piomingo,  to  show  you 
how  I. took  him — won't  hurt  you — damn  it,  don't  be 
afraid — won't  hurt  you — 'pon  my  honor — wont,  'pon  my 
soul — wouldn't  hurt  you  lor  the  world.  Just  so. 

'Hands  off,  you  puppy!  hands  off!' 

Beg  your  pardon,  sir — no  offence,  no  offence — meant 
no  harm — damned  if  I  did,  you  see. 

'Well,  what  next?' 

Why  sir,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was  sir:  We  agreed  to 


276  THE   SAVAGE. 

leave  the  whole  affair  to  a  reference:  and  what  do  you 
think  was  the  award? 

'I  cannot  tell.' 

Why  sir,  they  awarded  that  every  man  should  have 
his  own  money;  that  each  of  us  should  pay  a  dollar  for 
something  to  drink;  and  that  we  should  shake  hands,  d'ye 
see,  and  befriends.  'Twas  hard — damned  hard;  but  I 
never  bear  malice.  I'm  the  best  tempered  creature  in 
the  world:  indeed,  I'm  too  good  natured:  I  suifer  myself 
to  be  imposed  upon:  it's  my  weakness:  I  can't  help  it: 
it's  natural  to  me.  So  sir,  you  see  sir,  we  repaired  to 
the  house  sir,  and  drank  like  Cesars.  Shall  I  tell  you 
the  truth,  sir? 

"If  you  please." 

Well  sir,  the  fact  is  this,  sir:  I  got  drunk,  sir — dead 
drunk — they  carried  me  to  bed:  and  there  I  lay  till  this 
morning.  When  I  got  up  I  felt  quite  poorlj  I  assure 
you  sir,  damned  sort  of  good-for-nothing  like,  I  don't 
know  how  you  call  it — head  aches  yet.  So  sir,  you  per- 
ceive that  I  have  endeavored  to  explain  to  you  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  was  detained:  which  I  hope  I  have  done 
to  your  satisfaction. 

"Fully." 

Yes  sir,  I  was  detained  quite  unexpectedly;  but  I  have 
got  home  at  last. 

"Thank  God!" 

I  say  thank  God  too:  I'm  very  glad  to  be  at  home  in- 
deed. 

"You  give  thanks  for  one  thing,  and  I  for  another:  you 
— because  you  have  completed  your  journey;  and  I — 
because  your  story  is  ended." 

You  should  thank  me  for  that.  But  zounds,  how  I'  spend 
my  time:  I  have  a  hundred  things  to  do  this  very  even- 
ing— indeed  I  have — upon  my  word,  sir.  Next  time  I 
see  you,  I'll  explain  the  business  more  fully — give  you 
several  other  interesting  particulars. 

So  having  said,  little  Dickey  strutted  off  with  an  air 
of  infinite  importance.  The  everlasting  babbler  might 
have  answered  our  question  in  the  following  words:  "I 


THE    SAVAGE.  277 

got  druntf,  and  could  not  return  until  I  became  sober.' 
What  think  ye,  gentle  readers,  of  the  civilized  Gab- 
ble? shall  we  apologize  for  introducing  such  a  character 
to  your  notice?  or  will  you  apologize  for  having  such  a 
character  among  you?  Dick  Gabble  is  no  creation  of 
ours:  perhaps  we  should  make  an  apology  to  him,  for 
omitting  a  multitude  of  his  oaths. 


. 


SCANDAL. 

:  ib  succus  loliirinis,  haec  est 


JErugd  i. 

[y  sp 


Scandal  is  generally  spoken  of  as  if  she  were  a  fe- 
male. We  cannot  give  any  information  concerning  her 
sex;  but  we  havJBroten  seen  her  in  male,  as  in  female 
attire. 

We  lately  fell  into  company  with  a  number  of  gentle- 
men, with  some  of  whom  we  had  the  honor  of  being 
acquainted;  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  some  of  whom 
had  the  honor  of  being  acquainted  with  us. 

Robert  Steady,  Frank  Fluent,  George  Toper,  Charles 
Lavish,  Jack  Flash,  Will  Braggart,  and  Timon  Crab- 
tree,  were  the  only  persons  present  of  whom  we  had 
any  previous  knowledge;  but  there  were  several  others, 
with  whose  names  we  became  acquainted  during  the 
course  of  the  evening:  Peter  Poison,  Simon  Specious, 
Samuel  Pliant,  and  Ralph  Penniless. 

We  all  formed  but  one  company,  and  were  seated 
very  closely  together;  but,  if  our  conjectures  be  not  er- 
roneous, it  was  the  pleasing  warmth  of  a  fire,  and  not 
the  attraction  of  love  or  brotherly  kindness  that  brought 
us  into  contact.  Winter  calls  men  together,  a«d  com- 
pels them  to  be  social;  when  it  is  probable  if  they  were 
at  liberty  to  consult  their  own  inclinations,  they  would 
prefer  being  separate.  Men  become  more  polished  and 
civilized  in  the  winter  than  they  are  in  the  summer:  for, 
being  forced  into  company,  their  mutual  dependence  is 
increased,  and  their  asperities  are  rubbed  off  by  the 
continual  friction  they  find  it  necessary  to  suffer.  Every 
one  assumes  the  character  in  which  he  wishes  to  appear, 
Y 


278  THE    SAVAGE. 

and  sedulously  endeavors  to  hide  lb*!  natural  bent  of  his 
disposition:  nature  is  banished  with  violence:  and  affec- 
tation is  the  order  of  the  day. 

Among  those  whom  chance  had  brought  together  on 
the  present  occasion,  there  was  one  who  attracted  a  con- 
siderable share  of  our  attention.  He  was  about  five  feet 
six  inches  high,  well  formed;  and  his  features  were  ra- 
ther delicate  than  otherwise.  He  was  extremely  com- 
plaisant to  those  with  whom  he  conversed:  and  his  vis- 
age exhibited  continually  a  sickly  simpering  smile;  which 
was  not  however  sufficient  to  conceal  the  characters  of 
malevolence  and  envy  which  were  written  in  his  counte- 
nance. His  words  were  smooth  as  oil:  they  dropped 
from  his  lips  as  uhoney  from  the^PHi  oak,"  yet  we 
could  not  help  suspecting  that  the  poison  of  asps  was 
under  his  tongue.  Frank  Fluent,  who  sat  near  us,  per- 
ceiving who  it  was  that  excited  our  observation,  whis- 
pered in  our  ear  "that  is  Peter  Poison,  of  Bohon  Upas 
Grove,  esq." 

The  conversation,  as  is  usual  in  mixed  companies, 
was  of  a  desultory  nature:  One  subject  was  scarcely 
introduced  till  it  was  supplanted  by  another.  Sometimes 
we  paid  the  strictest  attention  to  the  speaker;  and  some- 
times we  interrupted  him  with  observations  of  our  own. 
Sometimes,  in  the  ardor  of  disputation,  we  all  spoke  at 
once,  and  again  awed  by  the  importance  of  the  person- 
age who  was  delivering  his  sentiments,  we  listened,  with 
silent  submission,  to  the  wisdom  that  flowed  from  his 
lips.  When  we  say  all,  we  would  be  understood  to  ex- 
cept Simon  Crabtree;  who  continued  silent,  gnawing  the 
head  of  his  cane  and  viewing  the  company  with  alter- 
nate emotions  of  contempt  and  indignation.  Sometimes 
he  smiled; 

but  smiled  in  such  a  sort 
As  if  he  mocked  himself  and  scorned  Iris  spirit, 
That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  any  tiling. 

When  Mr.  Steady  (whose  easy  manners  and  elegant 
habiliments  indicated  the  enjoyment  of  luxury  and  the 
possession  of  wealth)  thought  proper  to  make  an  obser- 
vation, 


THE    SAVAGE.  271 

Conticuere  omnes,  intentiquo  ora  tene1  ant: 

with  greedy  ears,  open  mouths,  End  upraised  eyelids, 
we  devoured  the  sweet  intelligence  as  the  Israelites  de- 
voured the  quails  in  the  wilderness,  or  the  manna  that 
was  sent  down  from  heaven.  When  he  smiled,  we  smiled; 
when  he  attempted  to  he  witty,  we  were  all  convulsed 
with  immoderate  laughter;  and,  when  he  expressed  his 
surprise  at  any  circumstance,  Good  God!  burst  simul- 
taneously from  the  lips  of  every  one  in  the  assembly. 
"When  he  addreseed  himself  particularly  to  any  indivi- 
dual, the  delighted  mortal  discovered  his  felicity  by  his 
fidgeting  embarrassment,  and  by  the  awkward  compla- 
cent-}' which  spread  itself  over  his  countenance. 

There  was  a  young  fellow  present  who  seemed  to 
have  formed  a  high  estimate  of  his  colloquial  powers, 
as  he  frequently  evinced  an  anxiety  to  join  in  the  con- 
versation; hut,  alas!  his  coat  had  suffered  by  the  ravages 
of  time,  and  his  shirt,  looked  out  at  the  elbows.  His 
waistcoat  was  threadbare;  his  linen  was  none  of  the 
eleanest;  and  his  boots  appeared  never  to  have  formed 
an  acquaintance  with  blacking:  his  whole  appearance 
proclaimed,  what  we  are  all  solicitous  to  conceal — 
want.  How  should  such  a  man  make  a  judicious  obser- 
vation? The  thing  was  impossible.  Yet  he  was  not  to  be 
discouraged  by  all  these  disqualifying  circumstances; 
but  continued  to  take  advantage  of  every  pause  in  the 
conversation  by  endeavoring  to  edge  in  a  word  of  his 
own.  For  a  long  time,  we  paid  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  his  remarks;  but  some  of  us,  at  last,  provoked 
at  his  intrusive  perseverance,  turned  round  and  regarded 
him  with  a  stare  of  supercilious  amazement. 

After  some  time  had  been  spent  in  this  manner,  Mr. 
Steady,  observing  that  he  had  some  business  that  re- 
quired his  attention,  rose  up  and  took  his  leave  of  the 
company.  He  was  scarcely  gone  when  Mr.  Poison  in- 
troduced the  following  conversation: 

Poison.  It  may  be  observed  of  Mr.  Steady,  that  he 
never  suffers  pleasure  to  interfere  with  his  business.  He 
is  a  cheerful  companion;  his  countenance  is  pleasing  and 


280  THE   SAVAGE. 

his  manners  agreeable.  I  have  known  him  ever  since  he 
was  a  boy,  and  I  feel  for  him  sentiments  of  the  sincerest 
and  most  durable  friendship:  yet,  I  cannot  but  wonder 
how  it  happens  that  he  should  suppose  himself  qualified 
to  engage  in  the  discussion  of  political  or  philosophical 
subjects.  He  may  indeed  occasionally  make  a  judicious 
observation;  but  he  never  was  known  to  deduce  any 
logical  inferences,  or  to  connect  together  a  series  of 
causes  and  effects.  His  opinions,  as  well  as  his  estate 
have  descended  to  him  by  inheritance;  and  it  is  probable 
they  will  be  transmitted  in  the  same  manner  to  his  son, 
without  their  having  suffered  any  waste  or  derangement 
in  their  passage  through  the  mind  of  their  present  pos- 
sessor. 

If  man.  be  correctly  defined  a  reasoning  animal,  Mr. 
Steady  must  no  longer  lay  claim  to  the  appellation:  for 
he  never  reasons.  It  must,  however,  be  acknowledged 
that  if  he  never  conquer,  he  is  never  overcome  in  dispu- 
tation: and  although  he  fails  of  producing  conviction  In 
the  minds  of  others,  he  always  preserves  his  own  opi- 
nions inviolate. 

Pliant.  Your  observations  are  just,  Mr.  Poison.  Stea- 
dy's mind  is  so  well  fortified  by  prejudice,  that  he  laughs 
at  the  clearest  axioms  with  all  their  host  of  unavoidable 
consequences;  he  despises  the  tropes  and  figures  of  rhe- 
toric, and  bids  defiance  to  all  the  syllogistic  artillery  of 
the  schools. 

Poison.  True,  Mr.  Pliant:  there  he  has  the  advantage 
of  us:  our  opinions  must  be  supported  by  reason,  other- 
wise they  fall;  but  this  gentleman's  upper  works  are  im- 
pregnable, absolutely  impregnable. 

Specious.  Notwithstanding  his  intellectual  weakness, 
his  conduct  appears  to  be  regulated  by  the  strictest  rules 
of  propriety;  and  he  is  universally  allowed  to  be  just  and 
honorable  in  his  dealings.  Alas!  what  is  reason?  It  is 
rather  a  meteor  that  leads  us  astray,  than  a  ulamp  to  di- 
rect our  feet  through  the  wilderness  of  life!"  A  man 
can  do  as  well  without  it. 

Poison.  I  do  believe,  at  least  I  hope,  that  Mr.  Steady 


THE   SAVAGE.  281 

is  perfectly  honest;  but,  a  man  can  hardly  be  so  correct 
in  his  conduct,  but  that  there  will  be  some  whisperings 
to  his  disadvantage.  1  should  be  sorry  to  give  credence 
to  any  story  that  might  be  circulated  to  the  injury  of  Mr. 
Steady's  reputation;  but  it  has  been  intimated  to  me,  in 
the  way  of  confidence,  that  there  was  some  little  under- 
hand work  in  the  settlement  of  old  John  Rich's  estate. 
Mr.  Steady,  you  know,  was  sole  executor:  I  hope  the 
orphans  had  no  cause  of  complaint,  though  there  appears 
to  be  some  mystery  in  the  transaction.  Indeed,  I  had  all 
the  particulars  of  the  affair  from  a  person  who  had  every 
opportunity  of  being  acquainted  with  the  circumstances. 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention  the  particulars;  and  I  am 
by  no  means  disposed  to  promote  the  circulation  of  any 
story  that  might  have  a  tendency  to  sully  the  fair  fame 
of  my  friend. 

Crabtree.  When  Mr.  Steady  were  present,  gentlemen, 
you  servilely  received  his  sentiments  as  emanations  from 
the  oracle  of  truth:  you  praised  the  acuteness  of  his  per- 
ception, the  correctness  of  his  reasoning,  the  solidity  of 
his  judgment,  and  the  brilliancy  of  his  wit:  but  the  mo- 
ment he  is  gone,  you  pronounce  him  a  fool:  and  not  sa- 
tisfied with  that,  you  endeavor  to  blacken  his  character. 
How  inconsistent  such  procedure!  how  dastardly  such 
conduct! 

Poison.  If  you  allude  to  me,  Mr.  Crabtree,  I  cannot 
do  otherwise  than  express  my  surprise  at  what  you  have 
said.  Mr.  Steady,  as  1  said  before,  is  my  particular  friend 
and  I  was  merely  expressing  my  regret  that  the  censo- 
►rious  world,  you  understand  me,  should  cast  aspersions 
of  this  nature 

Crabtree.  Yes,  I  understand  you  very  well:  conscious 
of  your  own  depravity,  you  enviously  endeavor  to  dis- 
parage every  thing  that  has  the  appearance  of  excel- 
lence. 

Poison.  Mr.  Crabtree,  do  you  mean  to  insult  me? 

Crabtree.  Yes. 

Poison.  You  wrong  me,  indeed  yon  do;  so  far  from 
contributing  to  injure  the  fame  of  Mr.  Steady,  I  would 
Y2 


282  THE   SAVAGE. 

willingly  defend  his  character  from  the  attacks  of  ma- 
levolence. 

Crabtree.  If  you  be  his  friend,  let  him  alone;  the  snail, 
wherever  it  crawls,  leaves  a  portion  of  its  slime. 

Poison.  Pray,  why  should  you,  Mr.  Crabtree,  who 
profess  to  haie  all  the  world,  undertake  the  defence  of 
Mr.  Steady? 

Crabtree.  It  is  not  respect  for  him,  but  detestation  of 
you,  which  occasions  my  displeasure.  Yes,  I  hate  all  the 
world,  but  particularly  sycophants  and  slanderers. 

Poison.  Do  you  hate  yourself? 

Crabtree.   Yes. 

Poison.   Why? 

Crabtree.  Because  I  am  a  man:  because  I  bear  the 
same  shape  with  such  a  poisonous  reptile  as  you. 

Poison.  Rail  away,  Mr.  Crabtree,  your  snarling  makes 
no  impression  upon  me. 

Crabtree.  No?  well  then  I  will  try  to  make  an  im- 
pression with  my  cane. 

So  saying,  he  raised  his  knotty  cudgel,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  lay  it  across  the  shoulders  of  the  delicate 
Poison;  who  exclaimed  with  a  loud  voice,  UI  am  a  jus- 
tice of  the  peace:  strike  me  if  you  dare!"  when  the 
company  interfered  and  prevented  the  perpetration  of 
mischief. 

We  could  perceive,  by  their  countenances,  that 
Charles  Lavish,  George  Toper,  Jack  Flash,  and  Will 
Braggart,  were  much  dissatisfied  with  our  conduct  in 
quelling  the  disturbance;  fjom  which  they  had  promised 
themselves  considerable  entertainment:  being  disap- 
pointed in  their  expectation,  they  thought  proper  to  leave 
the  company  and  look  for  amusement  in  some  other 
quarter. 

Frank  Fluent,  willingly  to  see  if  the  late  rebuff  had 
effected  a  reformation  in  Poison,  thought  proper  to  re- 
new the  conversation. 

Frank.  Are  you  acquainted  with  Lavish,  Mr.  Poison? 

Poison.  I  have  known  him  from  a  child.  He  once 
owned  a  very  pretty  property;  but  he  has  ruined  himself 


THE   SAVAGE.  283 


by  his  folly  and  extravagance.  Five  years  ago,  he  was  a 
man  of  substance;  but,  by  his  gambling  and  dissipation, 
he  has  reduced  himself  to  beggary. 

Frank.  He  owns,  I  think,  several  houses  in  the  city 
at  present. 

Poison.  There  are  several  houses  which  may  some- 
times be  called  his;  but  they  are  mortgaged  for  more 
than  they  are  worth.  At  present  he  owns  nothing,  less 
than  nothing:  he  has  contracted  debts  which  he  can 
■ever  repay. 

Frank.   What  think  you  of  Toper? 

Poison.  Ah,  poor  George!  it  makes  me  melancholy 
to  think  on  the  race  he  has  run!  Would  you  believe  it, 
Mr.  Fluent?  This  man,  a  few  years  ago,  was  respected 
by  every  one  who  knew  him.  He  was  well  educated, 
possessed  uncommon  abilities,  and  was  every  way  quali- 
fied to  make  a  figure  in  life;  but  now  he  is  a  confirmed 
drunkard,  scarcely  recovering  from  one  fit  of  intoxica- 
tion before  he  plunges  into  another.  Is  it  not  a  great 
pity,  gentlemen? 

Pliant.  A  great  pity  indeed,  Mr.  Poison, 

Specious.  A  very  great  pity. 

Crabtree.  Damn  your  pity!  Wretches!  how  dare  you 
pity  a  man  so  much  superior  to  yourselves? 

Poison.  1  am  really  sorry  for  Toper's  misfortune:  he 
is  an  enemy  to  nobody  but  himself.  There,  too,  are  Jack 
Flash  and  Will  Braggart:  the  first  is  a  handsome  fellow; 
but  he  bears  his  whole  fortune  on  his  back:  and  the  se- 
cond is  an  agreeable  companion;  but  an  intolerable  liar; 
he  never,  unless  it  were  by  accident,  told  a  word  of 
truth  in  his  life. 

Crabtree.  Mr.  Poison,  I  am  going  away  in  order  to 
give  you  an  opportunity  of  scattering  a  little  more  of 
your  venom. 

As  soon  as  Poison  perceived  that  Crabtree  had  actu- 
ally departed,  he  proceeded  as  follows:  "I  cannot  con- 
ceive why  Crabtree  should  make  me  the  particular  ob- 
ject of  his  enmity;  but  it  is,  probably,  because  he  knows 
it  is  in  my  power  to  mention  some  circumstances  which 
arc  not  generally  known. 


284  THE    SAVAGE. 

Specious.  You  allude  to  the  affair  a that  made  some 

little  noise  some  time  ago  a you  know  what  I  mean. 

Poison.  Yes,  ye^,  (nodding,  and  winking,  and  smiling,) 
I  believe  I  do:  I  heard  the  whole  story  immediately  af- 
ter (lie  transaction  took  place. 

Pliant.  Ah!  there  was  some  whispering. 

Poison.  It  was  an  ugly  affair;  but  I  hope  that  nothing 
I  have  said  will  be  mentioned  again.  Possibly  it  was  not 
as  bad  as  it  was  represented:  I  should  be  sorry,  how- 
ever, that  any  one  had  it  in  his  power  to  circulate  such  a 
story  concerning  me.  As  to  Crabtree's  rude  and  unman- 
nerly observations,  I  treat  them  with  contempt. 

Pliant.  He  is  a  brute. 

Specious.   He  is  not  fit  to  live  in  a  civilized  country. 

Having  wearied  themselves  with  winks,  nods,  hints, 
smiles,  shrugs,  knowing  looks,  and  a  variety  of  crooked 
insinuations,  Messieurs  Specious  and  Pliant  took  a  cere- 
monious leave,  expressing  the  highest  degree  of  friend- 
ship and  respect  for  Mr.  Poison;  who,  on  his  part,  gave 
them  a  pressing  invitation  to  visit  him  at  Bohon  Upas 
Grove,  assuring  them  that  not  only  he  himself,  but  Mrs. 
Poison  and  all  the  family  would  be  delighted  at  such  an 
occurrence;  and  think  themselves  honored  in  contributing 
to  the  amusement  of  gentlemen  so  dearly  beloved  and 
so  highly  respected. 

Frank.  These  gentlemen,  who  have  just  left  you,  are, 
it  seems  your  particular  friends,  Mr.  Poison. 

Poison.  Yes:  we  have  long  been  in  habits  of  intimacy. 
Specious  is  a  fine  man,  a  very  fine  man  indeed;  tosmooth 
water  is  deep:  he  would  have  no  objections  to  practise 
a  little  roguery,  if  it  could  be  done  snugly  in  a  corner. 
As  to  Pliant,  he  is  a  good  sort  of  a  man;  but  the  creature 
has  no  opinion  of  his  own:  he  will  accede  to  every  thing 
you  say.  Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  a  good  evening. 

Frank.  Poison  is  gone;  the  whole  company  has  dis- 
persed; and  we  have  done  wisely  in  keeping  our  posts 
until  the  time  of  his  departure.  Had  we  gone  away  soon- 
er, we  should  hava-  suffered  from  the  lash  of  his  malevo- 
lent tongue;  he  would  have  passed  some  slight  commen- 


THE    SAVAGE.  285 

dations  on  Piomingo  and  Frank:  and  then  would  have 
followed  his  malignant  and  poisonous  But:  he  never  was 
known  to  bestow  praise  on  any  one  save  for  the  purpose 
of  introducing  slander. 

Hie  niger  est:  Ilunc,  tu  Romane,  caveto. 
PEACE. 

"How  long,"  said  a  pious  religionist,  "shall  the  earth 
be  afflicted  by  war?  How  long  shall  man  rise  up  against 
man,  and  cover  the  fair  fields  of  creation  with  carnage 
and  destruction?  When  shall  the  olive  of  peace  extend 
its  branches  over  the  earth,  and  the  sons  of  men  seek 
repose  under  its  widespreading  shade?  When  shall  the 
time  come  in  which  "swords  shall  be  beaten  into  plough- 
shares, and  spears  into  pruning  hooks,  when  nation  shall 
not  lift  up  sword  against  nation,  neither  shall  they  learn 
war  any  more!" 

I  have  seen  burned  cities,  desolated  fields,  and  im- 
poverished families:  I  have  heard  the  groans  of  the  fa- 
ther when  deprived  of  his  son,  the  support  of  his  age:  I 
have  witnessed  the  despair  of  the  mother,  when  bereav- 
ed of  the  delight  of  her  eyes  and  the  joy  of  her  life:  I 
have  heard  the  frantic  cries  of  the  widow,  and  have  seen 
the  tears  of  the  orphan:  I  have  beheld  the  decrepit  sol- 
dier oppressed  with  age  and  covered  with  wounds,  beg- 
ging a  wretched  support  at  the  doors  of  the  opulent:— 
"This  is  thy  work,  O  war!  these  are  thy  fruits,  O  am- 
bition!" 

What  then,  we  demanded,  is  peace? 

"Peace,"  said  our  friend,  "is  the  absence  of  war: 
Where  there  is  no  contention,  no  strife,  no  opposition, 
there  is  peace.  Peace  is  love:  it  is  harmony:  it  is  rest.  I 
cannot  tell  you  what  it  is;  but  it  is  no  less  excellent  on 
account  of  my  inability  to  define  it.  A  modern  poet  has 
written  a  beautiful  hymn  to  peace:  shall  I  read  it?" 

Do  so. 

"Hail,  holy  peace,  from  thy  sublime  abode. 
Mid  circling  saints  that  grace  the  throne  of  God! 
Before  his  arm,  around  our  cmbryon  earth, 
Stretched  the  dim  void  and  gave  to  nature  birth. 


286  THE   SAVAGE. 

Ere  morning  stars  his  glowing  chambers  hung, 
Or  son<_'S  of  gladness  wo'<e  an  angel's  tongue, 
Veiled  in  the  splendors  of  his  teainful  mind, 
In  bless'd  repose  thy  placid  form  reclined, 
Lived  in  his  life,  his  inward  sapience  caught. 
And  traced  and  toned  his  universe  of  thought. 
Borne  through  the  expanse  with  his  creating  voice, 
Thy  presence  bade  the  unfolding  worlds  rejoice, 
Led  forth  the  systems  on  their  bright  career, 
Shaped  all  their  curves  and  fashioned  every  sphere, 
Spaced  out  their  suns,  and  round  each  radiantgoal, 
Orb  over  orb,  compelled  their  train  to  roll, 
Fade  heaven's  own  harmony  their  force  combine. 
Taught  all  their  hosts  symphonious  strains  to  join, 
Cave  to  seraphic  harps  their  sounding  lays, 
Their  joys  to  angels,  and  to  men  their  praise. 

Is  not  this  very  fine?1' 

Ay,  very  fine;  but  it  will  not  enable  us  to  form  an  idea 
of  peace.  Here  is  a  great,  show  of  woids;  but  the  mind 
is  fatigued  and  distressed  when  it  endeavors  to  discover 
the  meaning  that  is  intended  to  be  conveyed.  D>d  peace 
recline,  in  blessed  repose,  veiled  in  the  splendors  of  the 
beamfu!  mind  of  God?  did  it  live  in  his  life,  catch  his 
inward  sapience,  trace  and  tone  his  universe  of  thought? 
— Subject  this  tinsel  to  the  chemical  scrutiny  of  reason, 
and,  what  have  we? — Fumumex  fidgore.  Did  peace  bid 
the  unfolding  worlds  rejoice,  lead  forth  their  systems, 
shape  their  curves,  fashion  their  spheres,  space  out  their 
suns,  and  compel  their  train,  orb  over  orb,  to  roll?  These 
were  more  properly  the  operations  of  war,  the  triumphs 
of  the  creator  over  chaos.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
peace  in  nature:  Atom  is  at  war  with  atom;  planets  con- 
tend with  planets;  suns  dispute  with  suns  for  the  empire 
of  comets;  and  system  exerts  its  influence  in  opposition 
to  system.  Man  comes  into  life  fighting,  and  continues  to 
contend  with  every  thing  round  him  till  the  last  moment 
of  his  existence.     What  is  peace? 

"When  one  nation  ceases  to  carry  on  against  another 
those  operations  which  are  known  by  the  name  of  war, 
that  cessation  is  the  commencement  of  peace,  which 
consists  in  the  absence  of  these  operations." 

Peace,  then,  is  nothing:  and  it  is  not  wonderful  that 
we  should  find  it  difficult  to  give  a  satisfactory  definition 


THE    SAVAGE.  287 

of  a  nonentity.  Every  thing  in  nature  is  known  by  its 
qualities,  by  the  influence  it  exerts  over  other  beings,  by 
the  war  it  maintains  with  surrounding  objects.  Were 
there  peace  in  nature,  we  never  should  be  able  to  ac- 
quire any  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  things:  the  uni- 
verse would  consist  of  a  multitude  of  isolated  beings  un- 
influencing  and  uninfluenced,   unknowing  and  unknown. 

uLet  us  lay  aside  these  metaphysical  subtilities  which 
are  only  calculated  to  perplex  the  mind  and  lead  it  into 
labyrinths  of  error;  let  us  use  words  agreeably  to  their 
usual  acceptation,  unless  we  mean  to  speak  a  language 
wholly  different  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the  world." 

War  then  is  the  beating  of  drums,  the  roaring  of  can- 
nons, the  clashing  of  swords,  the  storming  of  forts,  the 
burning  of  towns,  the  shouts  of  the  victors,  the  despair 
of  the  vanquished,  and  the  groans  of  the  dying. 

"Yes:  such  are  the  horrid  operations  of  war.  Men 
exist  for  a  moment:  and  that  moment,  alas,  is  employed 
in  destroying  each  other!  The  mad  tyrants  of  the  world 
lead  forth  their  armies  to  destruction,  and  sacrifice  thou- 
sands after  thousands  to  their  restless  ambition.  Is  not 
war  a  dreadful  thing?" 

Certainly,  very  dreadful:  War  is  a  tremendous  volca- 
no which  desolates  the  fields  with  rivers  of  fire,  and 
overwhelms  the  cities  with  oceans  of  lava;  but  do  not  the 
ashes  of  this  volcano  fertilize  the  earth?  Does  not  the 
central  heat  hasten  the  progress  of  vegetation?  Do  not 
trees  bloom  and  fruit  ripen  round  the  base  of  the  burning 
mountain?  In  war, every  death  opens  the  way  for  a  life; 
wounds  and  diseases  aflord  employment  for  surgeons  and 
physicians;  the  meagerness  of  the  half-starved  soldier 
clothes  the  bones  of  the  commissary  with  flesh;  the  wants 
and  distresses  of  the  troops  heap  the  table  of  the  con- 
tractor with  luxuries,  and  cause  his  cup  to  overflow. — 
While  the  belligerents  are  contending  for  empire,  neu- 
tral nations  take  advantage  of  their  necessities,  and  grow 
rich  by  their  calamities.  Traders,  sdventurers,  specula- 
tors, hyenas,  wolves,  vultures,  scent  the  blood  from  afar, 
and  hasten  to  gorge  themselves  with  the  carnage.     The 


288  THE  SAVAGE. 

cultivator  of  the  earth,  whose  fields  are  situsted  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  scene  of  contention  and  consequently 
escape  the  ravages  of  war,  rejoices  that  the  produce  of 
his  labor  commands  a  price  corresponding  to  his  avari- 
cious desires,  and  devoutly  thanks  God  for  the  providen- 
tial occurrence.  The  merchant  pathetically  laments  over 
the  sufferings  of  afflicted  humanity,  but  in  the  mean  time 
supplies  the  contending  parties  with  the  pabulum  of  war 
and  with  the  instruments  of  destruction,  and  thus  enables 
them  to  continue  the  contest.  Privateers  range  the  seas, 
as  wolves  do  the  desert,  in  search  of  their  prey:  they 
plunder  the  defenceless  of  every  nation  that  fall  in  their 
way;  they  turn  their  arms  against  their  country,  and  rise 
into  consequence  by  the  ruin  of  their  friends. 

When  autumnal  storms  drive  the  frequent  ships  on  the 
barbarous  coast  of  some  civilized  nation,  the  lawless  in- 
habitants rush  forward,  destroy  the  poor  mariner  while 
struggling  with  the  waves,  seize  greedily  on  the  plunder, 
and  praise  God  as  piously  for  the  blessing  of  a  good 
wrecking  season,  as  does  the  farmer  for  the  exuberance 
of  a  plentiful  harvest.  When  a  house  is  in  flames  in  the 
midst  of  some  polished  city,  the  civilized  thieves  of  the 
vicinity,  taking  advantage  of  the  confusion,  appropriate 
to  themselves  the  property  of  the  suffering  owner,  and, 
no  doubt,  lift  up  their  hearts  in  thankfulness  to  the  boun- 
tiful giver  of  all  good  for  his  fatherly  kindness. 

"Horrible!" 

Why  that  exclamation? 

Mutato  nomine  de  te 

Fabula  narratur: 

Thou  art  the  man!  O  child  of  civilization!  thou  art  the 
man!  When  a  nation  is  shipwrecked;  when  she  is  torn 
by  intestine  confusion;  when  the  frame  of  society  is  dis- 
organized; when  the  whirlwind  of  popular  commotion 
has  torn  her  to  pieces:  when  the  flames  of  civil  discord 
rage  through  her  interior:  then,  the  neighboring  nations 
say  one  to  another,  "Let  us  go  up  to  war  against  our 
sister;  behold,  hath  not  the  Lord  delivered  her  into  our 
hands  ?"  The  suffering  nation  sees  herself  surrounded 
by  devourers:  some  menace  her  with  open  violence; 


Til  E    9  A  V  AGE.  289 

others  mock  her  calamity  wilh  insidious  professions  of 
friendship;  take  all  advantage  of  her  necessities,  and  en- 
voi- to  aggrandize  themselves  by  her  destruction. 
The  plunderers  proceed  gradually  to  bring  about  her 
ruin:  they  seize  her  garrisons,  rob  her  treasury,  dispense 
with  her  laws,  usurp  the  power  of  legislation,  and, 
,ily,  enslave  her  citizens,  partition  her  territory,  and 
blot  out  her  name  from  under  heaven. 

These,  my  benevolent  friend,  are  a  few  of  the  many 
advantages  that  flow  from  those  horrible  contentions  you 
affect  to  pursue  with  execrations.  You  may  continue  ta 
express  your  disapprobation;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  do 
not  fail  prudently  to  turn  these  events  to  your  personal 
emolument.  When  Lisbon  was  shattered  by  an  earth- 
quake, men  were  seen  darting  through  the  ruins  with 
lies  in  their  hands  and  setting  fire  to  those  buildings 
that  had  resisted  the  violence  of  the  shocks,  in  order 
that  they  might  be  enabled  to  plunder  amid  the  flames. 

"These  were  monsters,  not  men." 

They  were  men,  and  therefore  monsters.  But,  my 
■i  sir,  how  does  it  happen  that  your  detestation  of  war 
lias  risen  to  such  an  amazing  height  within  the  course 
of  a  few  years?  Do  we  not  remember  the  time  when  you 
not  only  dwelt  with  complacency  on  the  successes  of  a 
certain  belligerent  nation,  but  recounted  with  delight  the 
thousands  slain,  the  battles  won,  and  the  kingdoms  con- 
quered, by  your  favorite  hero?  Have  you  not  raised  him 
above  the  Cajsars  and  Alexanders  of  the  earth,  and 
bound  his  brows  with  the  wreath  of  immortality?  Did 
you  not,  moreover,  celebrate  his  virtues  as  well  as  his 
military  achievements?  Tell  me  candidly,  what  has  oc- 
casioned this  change  in  your  sentiments?  What  has' 
made  war  your  aversion,  and  sunk,  in  your  estimation, 
the  character  of  heroes? 

"I  have  reflected  coolly  on  the  barbarities  practised 

n  war,  and  on  the  sanguinary  career  of  a  conqueror  and 

ero:  and,  as  I  am  advancing  in  years,  indeed  am  draw- 

;  near  the  end  of  my   pilgrimage,  my   soul   stands 

hast  with  horror  when  I  think  of  those  atrocities  which 
Z 


i 
a  ii 


290  THE  SAVAGE. 

formerly   made   very    little   impression  on   my   mind." 

Very  well  said.  You  therefore  insinuate  that  you  be- 
come more  humane  and  benevolent  as  you  grow  old:  a 
circumstance  rather  uncommon!  We,  on  the  contrary, 
every  year  we  dwell  among  civilized  men,  find  ourself 
more  and  more  hardened  in  our  errors  and  more  and 
more  insensible  to  the  cries  of  the  afflicted:  should  we 
not  be  so  fortunate  as  to  die  before  long,  we  shall  be- 
come as  a  wicked  as  a  christian. 

Since  you  have  given  us  what  you  deem  a  sufficient 
reason  for  your  sudden  abhorrence  of  war,  we  will  en- 
deavor to  believe  you;  but  we  must  acknowledge  that 
we  had  previously  accounted  for  it  in  a  different  man- 
ner. We  had  supposed  that  not  only  your  former  admi- 
ration of  heroic  deeds,  but  your  present  sympathic  suf- 
ferings, were  occasioned  by  the  state  of  your  pecuniary 
concerns. 

Several  years  ago,  the  old  world  was,  as  well  as  ii 
now  is,  the  scene  of  contending  armies;  but  then  you 
rejoiced  in  the  prosperity  of  American  commerce;  which 
was  nourished  by  the  blood,  and  flourished  through  the 
misfortunes  of  suffering  Europe.  If  our  memory  be  not 
treacherous,  we  heard  you  declare  that  they  might,  if 
they  would  let  us  alone,  fight  as  long  as  they  pleased: 
"By  so  doing,"  said  you  with  a  smile  of  exultation, 
"they  will  open  a  good  market  for  our  beef  and  our 
flour."  But,  as  the  belligerents,  by  their  late  restrictions 
and  regulations,  have  nearly  annihilated  neutral  com- 
merce, we  had  uncharitably  conjectured  that  you  had 
been  led  to  conclude  that  a  general  peace  would  be  more 
favorable,  than  war,  to  commercial  enterprise  and  en- 
lightened speculation;  and  in  consequence  of  these  con- 
siderations, we  supposed  that  you  began  to  experience 
certain  sympathetic  sensations,  and  to  mourn  over  the 
afflictions  of  your  unfortunate  fellow  men. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  supposed  me  to  be 
swayed  by  such  unworthy  motives:  but  you  have  as  yet 
mentioned  no  good  that  results  from  war:  all  those  con- 


THE    SAVAGE.  291 

sequences,  of  which  you  have  taken  notice,  are  evils  of 
the  most  serious  nature." 

Think  of  the  French  revolution:  think,  as  long  as  you 
please,  of  (he  rapine, cruelty,  and  murder,  which  it  occa- 
sioned: hut  at  the  same  lime  do  not  fail  to  observe  the 
godlike  virtues,  heroism,  honor,  friendship,  contempt  of 
death  and  of  danger,  which  it  awakened;  a  thousand 
years  of  calm  corrupting  peace  would  not  have  called 
into  life  so  much  active  and  energetic  virtue.  It  is  only 
in  great  convulsions  and  revolutions  that  the  mind  of 
man,  having  freed  itself  from  the  grasp  of  avarice,  and 
shaken  off  the  yoke  of  contracted  sordid  and  grovelling 
passion,  discovers  something  transcendantly  great  and 
imposing:  we  are  ready  to  cry  out,  as  did  a  people  of 
old,  "The  gods  have  come  down  in  the  likeness  of  men!" 

"Those  virtues  made  the  nation  a  poor  compensation 
for  the  crimes  and  atrocities  of  the  sanguinary  conflict: 
these  faint  twinkling  stars  only  rendered  visible  the 
gloom  and  horrors  of  the  revolutionary  night.  Did 
France  derive  any  positive  good  from  this  ferocious 
struggle?" 

What  good  does  a  patient,  borne  down  to  the  grave  by 
a  painful  or  loathsome  disease,  receive  from  the  efficacy 
of  a  powerful  medicine,  or  from  the  bold  but  skilful 
operations  of  the  surgeon?  France  was  sick:  the  supe- 
rior extremities  of  her  body  were  weak,  bloated,  cor- 
rupt, and  incapable  of  being  applied  to  any  valuable  pur- 
pose. Her  hands  were  no  longer  able  to  supply  her  vo- 
racious jaws  and  her  insatiable  stomach  with  the  neces- 
sary sustenance;  and  her  feet  moved  heavily  beneath  a 
burthen  they  no  longer  had  the  ability  to  support.  The 
poison  of  civilization  had  pervaded  every  part  of  her 
system;  the  whole  mass  of  her  blood  was  corrupted,  and 
moved  aluggishly  through  her  veins;  thereicas  no  sound- 
tiess  in  her  flesh:  there  icas  no  rest  in  her  bones:  her 
whole  head  xcas  sick,  and  her  whole  heart  faint.  But  na- 
ture understood  the  disease  of  her  child,  and  adminis- 
tered the  only  efficacious  remedy:  it  threw  the  agonized 
patient  into  the  most  horrible  convulsions;  unskilful  ob- 


292  THE    SAVAGE. 

servers  were  ready  to  declare  that  the  hour  of  her  final 
dissolution  was  at  hand.  These  struggles,  however, 
were  only  the  prelude  to  renewed  youth  and  renovated 
strength:  She  arose  and  shook  herself:  she  went  forth 
like  a  giant  refreshed  with  wine,  and  astonished  the  na- 
tions with  the  grandeur  of  her  achievements.  She  will 
now  go  on  rejoicing  in  her  strength  till  she  become  again 
civilized  and  corrupted;  till  the  superior  parts  of  her 
body  become  too  heavy  to  be  borne  by  the  inferior:  then, 
she  must  again  have  recourse  to  the  revolutionary  medi- 
cine, or  perish. 

"What  are  the  evils  attendant  on  peace?" 
We  have  frequently  men'ioned  some  of  the  evils  of 
civilized  life:  and  peace  is  the  nurse  of  civilization.  Un- 
der her  fostering  care  those  arts  flourish  which  enable 
man  to  impose  upon  man.  We  have  already  said,  there 
is  no  peace:  but  we  now  add,  that  the  deceitful  calm,  to 
which  you  have  given  the  name  of  peace,  is  concealed 
war. 

When  Pallas  lias  laid  aside  her  spear,  her  helmet  and 
terrific  shield,  she  smiles,  and  calls  herself  Minerva: 
she  becomes  the  patroness  of  science,  presides  at  the 
loom,  and  cultivates  the  olive!  Her  nature,  however,  is 
always  the  same;  only  she  is  much  more  dangerous  in 
her  pacific  robes,  than  when  she  brandishes  the  gleamy 
spear  and  presents  her  snaky  egis  to  the  terrified  chil- 
dren of  men.  She  teaches  men  how  to  fight  in  ambush, 
and  carry  on  their  operations  in  the  dark.  She  instructs 
her  ingenious  disciples  how  to  practise  the  arts  of  de- 
ception, to  lull  their  opponents  into  a  fatal  security,  and 
to  gain  their  purposes  by  the  exhibition  of  false  appear- 
ances. She  throws  round  the  shoulders  of  the  sly  plot- 
ting villain  the  snowwhite  mantle  of  piety  and  religion. 
She  covers  intrigue  and  cunning  with  the  semblance  of 
truth  and  simplicity;  and  she  veils  the  face  of  hatred  and 
malignity  with  the  smiles  of  innocence  and  love.  She 
seduces  the  unwary,  from  the  path  of  rectitude,  by  de- 
ceitful lures  and  specious  courtesy;  and  she  strews  with 
flowers  the  road  that  leads  to  destruction.     She  mixes 


THE   SAVAGE 


293 


30T19  in  a  golden  cup,  and  sweetens  the  draught  with 
Ilyblean  honey.     She  is  a  sorceress. 


LETTER  III. 

From  Chotahowce,  a  warrior  of  the  Cherokee  nation,  to  PiomingO,  a  headman 
and  warrior  of  the  Muscogulgee  confederacy. 

Father!  My  beloved  friend  Dr.  Calomel,  who  re- 
sides in  our  town,  writes  down  this  talk.  May  it  reach 
you  in  safety! 

Father!  Have  you  learned  to  love  your  enemies  and 
hale  your  friends? 

Have  you  learned  to  chatter  like  a  jay  about  nothing? 
Do  you  tell  every  one  you  meet  that  it  is  a  beautiful  day, 
and  then  listen  to  some  intelligence  equally  interesting? 
Every  time  you  encounter  an  acquaintance,  do  you  say, 
How  d'ye  do?  or  How  do  you  stand  it  this  morning?  Do 
you  ask  every  one  you  see  ichat  news  there  is  stirring, 
and  then  proceed,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  to  com- 
municate some  important  observation  of  your  own? 

Do  you  sit  several  hours  at  dinner  and  slander  your 
neighbors  who  are  absent,  and  speak  smooth  things  to 
those  who  are  present?  Do  you  understand  cookery 
more  perfectly  than  the  oldest  of  our  squaws?  Can  you 
tell  how  much  cream,  how  much  butter,  how  much  pep- 
per, how  much  salt,  how  much  vinegar,  and  how  much 
of  an  infinite  number  of  ingredients,  for  which  we  In- 
dians have  no  name,  must  enter  into  the  composition  of  a 
single  civilized  dish?  Do  you  begin  to  carry  before  you 
a  mountain  of  guts,  and  to  pant  when  you  walk  up  a  hill? 
Do  you  begin  to  have  a  comfortable  variety  of  fevers, 
gouts,  consumptions,  chachexies,  apoplexies,  and  rheu- 
matisms? Do  you  begin  to  catch  cold?  Father!  inform 
me,  I  beseech  you,  in  your  next  letter,  whether  or  not 
you  begin  to  catch  cold.  Do  you  have  what  Doctor  Ca- 
lomel calls  nervous  diseases?  Are  you  occasionally  trou- 
bled with  imaginary  distempers?  Is  your  nose  sometimes 
converted  into  edible  cheese,  or  your  posteriors  into 
frangible  glass?  Do  you  sometimes  suppose  you  are  the 
chieftain  of  heaven,  and  able  to  regulate  the  motions  of 


294  THE   SAVAGE. 

the  stars?  Have  you  sometimes  the  accursed  disease 
which  your  civilized  friends  long  since  made  common  in 
our  villages? 

Do  you  read  the  holy  book  and  keep  the  holy  day?  Do 
you  tell  the  Great  Spirit  how  to  govern  the  world?  Do 
you  tease  the  Great  Mingo  of  heaven  with  your  songs 
and  your  psalms  and  your  neverending  prayers;  with  your 
kneeling  and  standing,  your  sobhing  and  crying,  your 
shouting  and  howling,  your  cringing  and  wheedling? 

Father!  Have  you  made  yourself  acquainted  with  the 
civilized  oaths?  canyoucurse  like  a  gentleman?  can  you 
swear  like  a  christian?  can  you  say  God  eternally  damn 
your  soul  to  AeZZ,  without  feeling  any  savage  hesitation,  at 
making  use  of  an  expression  so  impious  and  profane,  or 
at  uttering  a  curse  so  malignantand  horrible?  I  had  long 
known  that  christians  made  use  of  these  execrations; 
but  I  had  no  idea  of  the  meaning  until  Blackcoat  gave 
us  some  interesting  information  concerning  the  God  of 
the  christians,  favored  us  with  an  accurate  topographical 
description  of  hell,  and  instructed  us  in  the  nature  of 
eternal  damnation.  Piomingo!  What,  shall  we  say?  Do 
these  white  christians  believe  their  own  holy  talk}  If 
they  do,  they  are  the  most  wicked,  the  most  malevolent, 
demons  that  ever  the  Great  Spirit  permitted  to  exist!  if 
they  do  not,  why  should  they  send  their  missionaries  to 
propagate  errors  among  the  children  of  nature? 

Father!  If  you  can  answer  all  the  questions,  1  have 
asked,  in  the  affirmative,  I  shall  pronounce  you  in  a  fair 
way  to  be  civilized,  and  advise  you  to  return  no  more  to 
the  hills  of  the  Cherokees  or  the  clear  streams  of  the 
Muscogulgees. 

Father!  I  have  often  admired  the  importance  of  the 
subjects  which  are  discussed  by  these  enlightened  and 
polished  whites  in  their  accidental  occurrences  and  so- 
cial assemblies.  In  the  first  place,  they  take  particular 
care  to  enquire  into  the  state  of  each  others  health:  uMy 
dear  sir,  how  do  you  do?  How  do  you  feel  this  morning? 
I  hope  you  are  well"  Piomingo!  Why  do  they  ask  these 
preposterous  questions?     Do  they  feel  any  solicitude  for 


THE   SAVAGE.  295 

the  health  and  prosperity  of  their  friends  and  acquain- 
tances?— No  such  thing,  they  would  send  each  other  to 
the  devil  in  a  moment  if  it  were  in  their  power.  Do  they 
wish  to  render  each  other  unhappy  by  bringing  to  their 
respective  recollections  the  frailties,  pains,  diseases,  and 
infirmities  of  the  body?  Do  they  wish  to  damp  the 
general  joy  by  calling  up  ideas  of  death  and  the  grave? 
In  the  second  place,  they  proceed  to  inform  each  other 
seriously  and  formally  concerning  the  nature  of  the  wea- 
ther, the  temperature  of  the  air,  the  course  of  the  wind, 
and  the  changes  of  the  moon.  "Well,"  says  one,  "this 
is  a  pleasant  morning:  the  rain  we  had  yesterday  was 
extremely  refreshing:  and  this  warm  sun,  following  the 
rain,  will  promote  vegetation  with  rapidity."  If  it  besum- 
mer,  we  hear,  "A  very  warm  day  this!  is  it  not  sir?  My 
God! 'tis  excessive  hot:  it  makes  me  perspire  like  the 
devil!"  Here  I  must  remark  that  these  polished  beings 
arc  very  apt  to  hook  God  and  the  devil  into  the  same  sen- 
tence: why  they  do  so,  I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  be  merely 
to  embellish  their  discourse.  Father!  1  speak  English 
fluently;  but  I  never  could  exactly  discover  when  to  in- 
troduce God,  or  when  to  have  recourse  to  the  devil,  in 
my  conversation:  indeed,  sometimes  I  am  ready  to  con- 
clude that  those  names  are  used  without  the  least  dis- 
crimination: thus,  "Good  God!  how  it  rains!"  and  "It 
rains  like  the  devil!"  seem  to  convey  the  same  idea  pre- 
cisely. If  two  friends  encounter  each  other  in  the  street 
in  December  or  January,  after  the  customary  interroga- 
tions and  responses  concerning  the  health  of  themselves 
and  their  families,  after  having  coughed  and  complained 
of  a  cold,  and  having  given  a  circumstantial  detail  of  the 
manner  in  which  this  cold  was  unfortunately  caught;  after 
having  whined  about  an  aking  head,  a  poor  appetite,  a 
sick  stomach,  a  miserable  digestion,  a  weakness  of  the 
back,  a  sore  shin,  a  crick  in  the  neck,  a  pain  in  the  hip, 
&c.  &c.  they  proceed,  UA  cold  day,  sir."  "Yes  sir,  quite 
cold."  "It  blows  co u founded ly."  "Yes  sir,  a  blustry 
day:  a  blustry  day  indeed  sir."  "Quite  a  deep  snow  this." 
"Yes  sir,  quite  a— quite  a  snowy  day,  sir:  this  is  what  I 


296  THE    SAVAGE. 

call  winter."  Piomingo!  What  is  their  purpose  (if  they 
have  any  purpose  at  all)  in  relating  these  circumstances 
which  must  necessarily  be  as  well  known  to  one  as  to 
the  other?  Does  it  arise  from  habitual  garrulity,  or  from 
an  itching  propensity  to  hear  themselves  talk?  Each  one 
hastens  to  be  delivered  of  the  important  intelligence, 
lest  his  friend  should  begin,  and  consequently  deprive 
him  of  the  pleasure  of  exercising  the  organs  of  speech. 
Were  not  the  whites  an  intelligent  people,  I  should  cer- 
tainly suppose  they  were  reduced,  by  the  paucity  of 
their  ideas,  to  the  deplorabU  necessity  of  talking  non- 
sense or  continuing  silent.* 

In  the  third  place,  they  enquire  for  news;  but,  for  the 
most  part,  they  are  much  more  anxious  to  circulate  some 
story  of  their  own,  than  to  listen  to  the  curious  anec- 
dotes that  may  have  been  gathered  by  others. 

Father!  In  my  next  letter  I  shall  give  you  some  ac- 
count of  the  progress  made  by  Blackcoat  In  christianizing 
the  Cherokee  women,  and  send  you  a  tain:  which  he  held 
with  our  chiefs  and  warriors,  at  which  the  high  priest 
of  the  nation  was  present. 

Piomingo!  May  the  God  of  our  fathers  give  you  pros- 
perous days  and  peaceful  nights!  May  your  life  be  long, 
and  your  death  tranquil!  and  may  you  at  last  find  repose 
in  the  islads  of  bliss  created  by  the  author  of  our  life  for 
the  everlasting  abode  of  the  souls  of  heroes  and  the 
spirits  of  the  just! 

Farewell.  Chotaiiowee. 

Chotahowee  has  taken  notice  of  the  insipidity  and  fri- 
volity of  common  conversation;  but  he  has  not,  perhaps, 
been  able  to  discover  the  reason  why  the  confabulations 
of  civilized  men  are  generally  so  dull  and  uninteresting. 

In  our  remarks  on  a  former  letter,  we  proved  that  ci- 
vilization fits  men  to  fill  a  place  in  society,  but  renders 
them  altogether  unable  to  vary  their  conduct  according 
to  circumsianees:  and  we  now  take  the  liberty  to  add 
that  a  man  is  not  well  qualified  to  discourse  on  any  sub- 
ject which  he  does  not  understand.     Hence  it  happens, 


THE    SAVAGE.  297 

that  when  a  number  of  those  polished  individuals  meet 
tog-ether,  every  one  feels  a  strong  propensity  to  speak  of 
his  own  trade  profession  or  employment. 

The  farmer  would  willingly  inform  you  that  the  season 
was  favorable  or  unfavorable  to  the  growth  of  corn,  or 
the  culture  of  tobacco;  that  the  caterpillars  had  commit- 
ted ravages  on  his  fruit  trees;  that  his  wheat  was  mil- 
dewed; that  his  rye  was  blighted;  and  that  his  sheep 
were  dying  with  the  rot. 

The  grazier— (We  acknowledge  that  the  business  of  a 
grazier  is  not  of  sufficient  consequence  to  entitle  him  to 
particular  notice  in  this  place;  but  as  he  belongs  to  a 
respectable  class  of  men  in  the  vicinity  of  Philadelphia, 
and  as  we  have  often  been  compelled,  by  the  cruel  and 
malignant  fates,  to  sit  with  "sad  civility"  and  listen  to 
tedious  bucolic  disquisitions,  we  think  proper  to  say  a 
few  words  on  this  subject.)  The  grazier  can  descant  in- 
geniously on  the  different  breeds  of  cattle;  and  on  the 
"art  and  mystery"  of  fattening  a  bullock.  He  can  tell 
exactly  how  much  grass  an  ox  must  graze,  and  how 
much  corn  he  must  devour,  in  order  to  Jill  up  his  points, 
or  clothe  his  frame  with  a  specified  quantity  of  flesh.  He 
can  not  only  tell,  while  the  beast  is  yet  alive,  how  much 
it  will  weigh  when  slaughtered;  but  he  can  discover, 
with  surprising  sagacity,  what  a  quadruped,  now  poor, 
will  weigh  when  properly  and  sufficiently  fed.  He  can 
tell,  from  the  food  and  attention  bestowed  on  the  animal, 
whether  it  will  dieivellov  ill;  whether  it  will  rise  above, 
or  fall  below,  an  estimate  formed  from  appearances 
agreeably  to  the  strict  rules  of  art.  He  discovers  un- 
common acuteness  in  distinguishing  a  New  England  bul- 
lock from  a  Virginia  steer  or  a  Tennessee  heifer.  He 
knows  that  the  Louisiana  cattle  have  long  horns,  and  that 
they  are  unable  to  stand  the  rigors  of  our  winter.  Final- 
ly, his  conversation  is  replete  with  information  concern- 
ing the  manner  of  striking  a  bargain  with  a  butcher,  or 
carrying  on  a  negociation  with  a  drover. 

The  soldier  loves  to  talk  of  battles,  sieges,  long  fatigu- 
ing marches,  and  other  military  achievements.  He  boasts, 


298  THE    SAVAGE. 

with  pride  and  pleasure,  of  the  wonders  he  has  per- 
formed, and  exhibits  his  stumps  and  scars  as  testimonials 
of  his  veracity.  He  speaks 

of  most  disastrous  chances, 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  ami  fields; 

Of  hairbreadth  'scapes  i'  th'  imminent  deadly  breach* 

Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe, 

And  sold  to  slavery. 

The  sailor  would  talk  of  long  and  dangerous  voyages, 
of  barbarous  coasts,  of  dreadful  slorms,  of  naval  engage- 
ments, of  floating  ice,  of  desert  isles,  of  dangerous  rocks 
and  sands,  interposing  occasionally  encomiums  on  his 
own  courage  and  dexterity,  and  rendering  the  whole 
nearly  unintelligible  by  his  nautical  phrases  and  pecu- 
liar  modes  of  expression. 

The  several  artificers  delight  to  expatiate  on  the  in- 
genious productions  of  their  hands,  on  the  tools  they 
employ,  and  on  the  craft  which  produces  their  wealth. 

Nothing  is  sufficiently  important  to  be  discussed  by  the 
merchant  but  the  interests  of  commerce;  the  state  of 
the  market,  the  risk  incurred,  the  probable  profits,  and 
the  rate  of  insurance.  If  he  grow  rich  by  trade,  lawful 
or  unlawful,  then  his  country,  of  course,  is  in  a  prosper- 
ous situation:  and  if  he  make  an  unfortunate  voyage,  the 
nation  is  pronounced  to  be  on  the  brink  of  destruction! 

They,  who  belong  to  those  professions  which  are 
honored  with  the  appellation  of  learned,  have  frequently 
some  acquaintance  with  general  literature, and  are  conse- 
quently better  qualified,  than  the  persons  already  men- 
tioned, to  join  in  rational  conversation;  but  it  unfortu- 
nately happens  that  literary  subjects  can  rarely  be  dis- 
cussed unless  we  mean  to  exclnde  the  greater  part  of 
every  mixed  company  from  taking  a  share  in  the  collo- 
quial entertainment.  It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that 
lawyers,  physicians  and  divines,  as  well  as  farmers,  me- 
chanics, merchants,  soldiers  and  sailors,  have  their  fa- 
vorite subjects  of  discussion,  and  are  enabled,  by  the 
course  of  their  studies,  to  shine  more  resplendent ly  in 
those  parts  which  they  have  frequently  rehearsed,  and 
which  have   become   familiar  to   their  minds,  than  in 


THE    SAVAGE.  299 

those  which  are  more  generally  interesting  to  mankind. 
The  lawyer  is  ever  ready  to  join  issue  with  lho.se  who 
dispute  the  infallibility  of  the  lex  script a  a ut  non  scripta: 
he  can  praise  those  venerable  regulations  sanctified  by 
time  and  confirmed  by  experience — the  accumulated 
wisdom  of  ages!  If  you  oppose  reason  to  any  of  his  ax- 
ioms, he  immediately  demurs,  and  objects  to  the  compe- 
tence or  credibility  of  your  witness:  for  the  competency 
and  credibility  of  a  witness  are  far  from  being  the  same 
in  the  eye  of  the  law.  He  informs  you  that  the  law  is 
superior  to,  nay,  that  it  is,  itself,  the  perfection  of  reason: 
lex  est  summa  ratio.  He  can  talk  wisely  of  rights,  whe- 
ther appertaining  to  persons  or  things:  and  he  can  tell 
what  remedy  is  afforded  by  the  law,  when  these  rights 
are  violated  by  any  tortious  offender.  But  if  the  injuries 
be  insignificant,  (such  as  assailing  a  gentleman  with 
abusive  and  insolent  language,  insulting  the  unfortunate, 
outraging  the  feelings  of  the  sensitive,  ridiculing  the 
poor,  aged,  and  infirm)  there  is  no  redress:  cle  minimis 
non  curat  lex.  He  knows  how  to  bar  an  entail,  and  how 
to  confess  lease  entry  and  ouster.  He  knows  the  difference 
between  de  jure  and  de  facto,  and  discovers  vast  erudi- 
tion when  the  nature  of  a  chose  in  action  is  the  subject 
o[  investigation.  He  can  tell  when  a  man  may  bring  de- 
tinue, and  when  recourse  must  be  had  to  trover  and  con- 
ion.  He  knows  the  difference  between  corporeal  and 
i  poreal  hereditaments,  and  points  out,  with  astonish- 
ing precision,  the  distinction  between  an  executory  de- 
vise and  a  contingent  remainder. 

The  physician — (But  before  we  proceed  any  farther, 
we  take  the  liberty  to  observe  that  there  is  no  character 
we  so  much  love  and  admire  as  that  of  an  amiable  hu- 
mane and  intellligent  physician,  who,  without  medical  bi- 
gotry or  professional  arrogance,  devotes  his  time  and 
talents  to  the  duties  of  his  profession;  who  studiously 
and  tenderly  endeavors  to  remove  or  alleviate  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  body,  and  soothes  with  benevolent  attentions 
the  anguish  of  the  mind;  Who,  like  the  good  Samaritan, 
pours  wine  and  oil  into  the  wounds  of  the  unfortunate 


300  THE    SAVAGE. 

traveller,  while  the  proud  priest  and  hypocritical  Levite 
pass  by  on  the  other  side.  Such  a  man  resembles  one 
who  was  greater  than  the  good  Samaritan:  he  resembles 
the  beneficent  founder  of  Christianity;  of  whom  it  is  said, 
that  he  went  about  doing  good.)  The  physician  discusses 
with  pleasure  those  subjects  which  affect  the  minds  of 
other  men  with  consternation  and  honor:  he  relates  the 
story  of  having  been  in  at  a  death,  with  the  same  com- 
posure and  satisfaction,  that  another  will  give  an  account 
of  the  occurrences  of  a  ball,  or  the  joyful  festivity  of  a 
wedding.  He  talks  with  the  utmost  composure  of  ema- 
ciated limbs  stretched  out  on  the  bed  of  despair,  of  the 
heavy  hazy  eyes,  the  pallid  countenance,  the  cold  moist 
forehead,  the  dry  cough,  the  parched  tongue,  the  rat- 
tling throat,  and  the  convulsive  struggle  of  dissolution. 
And  should  the  unfortunate  mortal,  in  performing  this 
last  scene  in  the  serio-comical  drama  of  life,  exhibit  any 
little  peculiarities  or  whimsical  weaknesses,  he  be- 
comes a  subject  of  ridicule  to  the  philosophic  physician, 
for  not  dying  according  to  the  established  regulations  of 
the  stage.  The  physician,  moreover,  delights  to  inquire 
whether  the  human  frame  be  subject  to  many  diseases, 
or  to  one  only;  whether  a  complaint  be  founded  in  a 
constitutional  predisposition,  or  indueed  by  extraneous 
causes;  whether  the  yellow  fever  be  propagated  by  a 
subtile  contagion  emanating  from  the  bodies  of  the  dis- 
eased, or  engendered  by  pestifeious  miasmata  arising 
from  decayed  vegetables  or  putrefying  animal  substances: 
and  in  these  cases  it  may  often  be  observed,  that  the 
support  and  establishment  of  a  favorite  theory  are  ob- 
jects of  much  greater  importance  than  the  preservation 
of  life. 

The  divine — (Did  the  divine  observe  the  precepts 
and  follow  the  example  of  his  meek  and  lowly  Master, 
he  would,  whatever  we  might  think  of  his  faith,  call 
forth  our  love  and  command  our  veneration:  how,  then, 
does  it  happen,  that  as  soon  as  we  hear  the  name  of  a 
clergyman  mentioned,  we  immediately  associate  with 
the  man  qualities  of  bigotry,  arrogance    and  spiritual 


THE    SAVAGE.  SOI 

pride?  How  does  it  happen,  that  the)',  whose  business 
it  is  to  inculcate  benevolence,  charity,  humility  and  pa- 
tience, should  be  characterized,  wherever  they  are 
known,  by  a  proud,  overbearing,  intolerant  disposition? 
We  have  looked  into  nature  for  the  cause:  and  we  think 
we  have  found  it? — We  have  known  a  negro  in  a  south- 
ern state  to  value  himself  on  the  riches  and  grandeur  of 
his  master,  and  to  look  down,  with  infinite  contempt,  on 
the  slave  of  a  less  opulent  planter.  And  {paulo  majora 
canamus)  the  ambassadors  and  ministers  of  foreign  na- 
tions expect  to  be  honored  according  to  the  power, 
opulence  and  splendor  of  the  princes  by  whom  they  are 
deputed:  how  then  shall  we  show  our  respect  for  the 
ministers  plenipotentiary  from  the  court  of  "heaven  star- 
paved?"  How  shall  we  receive  the  ambassadors  of  the 
Most  High?  What  shall  be  done  to  the  man  whom  the 
Lord  of  Hosts  delighteth  to  honor?)  The  divine  knows 
where  his  own  "great  strength  lieth,"  consequently  en- 
deavors, in  every  conversation  to  mix,  with  the  epheme- 
ral concerns  of  this  world,  the  everlasting  joys  or  sor- 
rows of  another,  and  to  call  away  our  thoughts  from  the 
business  of  this  life  and  iix  them  on  the  dark  futurities 
of  the  world  which  is  to  come. 

It  will  readily  be  admitted,  that  men  are  better  quali- 
fied totalkof  things  that  relate  immediately  to  their  own 
professions  and  employments  in  life  than  on  any  other 
subject:  and,  as  the  pursuits  of  civilized  men  are  almost 
infinite  in  number,  it  follows  that  no  subject  of  conver- 
sation can  be  introduced  which  will  be  interesting  and 
familiar  to  the  whole  of  the  company. 

Should  a  farmer  attempt  to  engross  the  attention  of 
an  assembly  by  giving  an  account  of  the  management 
of  his  affairs,  he  would  subject  himself  to  ridicule; 
should  an  artificer  entertain  us  with  any  thing  relating  to 
his  trade,  his  conversation  would  be  said  to  smell  of  the 
shop;  should  a  soldier  6r  a  sailor  attempt  to  communi- 
cate his  exploits  and  adventures,  an  attentive  observer 
would  perceive  a  sneer  of  contempt,  or  a  smile  of  incre- 
dulity, playing  on  the  countenances  of  the  auditors;  and 
Aa 


S02  THE    SAVAGE. 

should  any  one  dare  to  introduce  literary  subjects  in  the 
presence  of  illiterate  men)  who  compose  the  most  weal- 
thy, and  consequently  the  most  respectable,  portion  of  so- 
ciety) he  would  be  branded  with  the  appellation  of  pe- 
dant.    What  then  must  be  done? 

It  is  reported  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  that  he  would 
always  introduce  lewd  or  obscene  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion at  his  table.  Being  asked  the  reason  of  this  con- 
duct, he  replied,  "That  is  a  subject  in  which  all  can 
join."  Decency  forbids  the  present  polished  generation 
to  have  recourse  to  sir  Robert's  expedient,  and  there- 
fore they  are  necessitated  to  talk  of  the  state  of  their 
health,  the  temperature  of  the  air,  or  something  else 
equally  frivolous. 

Thesavages  of  America  are  remarkable  for  their  taci- 
turnity: they  esteem  it  the  height  of  absurdity  and  mad- 
ness to  speak,  when  no  valuable  purpose  can  be  answer- 
ed by  speaking.  But  if  any  subject  of  conversation  be 
introduced,  it  is  always  interesting  to  all:  it  relates  to  the 
business  of  the  chase,  to  the  operations  of  war,  or  to 
the  public  concerns  of  the  nation. 


PRONUNCIATION:   FROM  CRITO. 

There  is  a  great  propensity  among  the  vulgar,  in  Pen- 
sylvania,  to  give  the  sound  of  oo  to  the  diphthongal  u: 
thus,  instead  of  blue  lure  lute  luminous  due  duty  nusance  nudity 
numerous  supine  supreme  tutor  tumor  tune  tube,  $*c.  we  hear  bloo 
loorloot  loominous  doo  dooty  noosance  noodity  noomerous  soopine 
soopreme  toootor  toomor  toon  toob;  and  this  anomalous  pro- 
nunciation is  not  only  tolerated,  but  defended  by  many  of 
our  American  wordmongers.  Their  orthoepical  canons 
would  be  unworthy  of  attention,  did  not  every  year  wit- 
ness the  emission  of  some  five  or  six  spellingbooks  un- 
der the  auspices  of  eminent  booksellers:  these  productions  of 
genius  meet  with  a  ready  sale,  and  are  dispersed  over  the 
continent  to  confirm  old  errors  and  propagate  new  ones. 
Any  man  is  supposed  to  be  qualified  to  write  books  for  chil- 
dren: and  it  seems  to  be  altogether  forgotten  that  these 
children  may  one  day  become  men;  and  that  errors  plan- 
ted in  childhood  are  not  easily  eradicated.  Nothing  more 
is  necessary  than  to  make  a  collection  of  words,  invent 
new  rules  for  the  division  of  syllables,  give  tables  of  words 


THE    S  A  V  A  «  E  .  303 

the  same  in  sound  but  different  in  spelling"  and  significa- 
tion, and  of  words  spelled  in  one  manner  and  pronounc- 
ed in  another,  not  forgetting"  to  add  a  compendious  system  of 
English  grammar;  and  the  business  is  done.  Recommenda- 
tions of  sapient  schoolmasters  are  easily  procured;  nor  is 
it  difficult  to  find  booksellers  sufficiently  intelligent  to  dis- 
cover that  the  thing  may  sell.  These  are  trifles,  I  acknowl- 
edge; but hoe  nuga;  seria  ducent 

In  mala. 

If  literary  men  be  honorably  employed  in  correcting  a 
vitious  pronunciation,  certainly  it  must  be  commendable  to 
take  notice  of  those  who  contribute  to  the  existence  of  error. 

Sometimes,  however,  we  are  too  headstrong  to  be  Jed  a- 
way  by  an  American  philologist;  but  if  an  English  author 
issue  his  mandates,  who  will  refuse  an  immediate  ac- 
quiescence] Well  then,  Sheridan  has  informed  us  that  we 
should  not  say  toon  toob  tootor,  nor  yet  tune  tube  tutor,  but 
choon  choob  chootor  :  and  thousands  in  America  have 
made  themselves  ridiculous  by  following  Sheridan. 

This  orthoepist  was  long  supposed  to  be  an  infallible 
guide:and  any  one,  some  years  ago,who,  in  this  wilderness 
of  ours,  should  have  had  the  presumption  to  oppose  his 
own  ideas  of  propriety  to  the  dicta  of  Sheridan  would  have 
exposed  himself  to  ridicule  and  contempt. 

But  Walker  has  appeared  and  convicted  his  predeces- 
sor of  innumerable  errors.  Must  we  revolt  from  Sheridan 
and  transfer  our  allegiance  to  Walker?  Certainly:  Sheri- 
dan was  an  Irishman:  he  was  not  born  within  the  sound 

Of  merry  merry  Bow  Church  bells; 

he  had  not  snuffed  up  the  smoke  of  the  British  metropolis 
for  a  sufficient  lenghth  of  time;  nor  had  his  ear  acquired 
refinement  from  the  harmony  of  London  cries  or  the  musi- 
cal voice  of  the  cockneys.  But  Mr.  Walker — who  will  dis- 
sent from  the  opinion  of  a  man  who  was  "born  within  a 
few  miles  of  the  capital";  and  who  has  "resided  in  the  ca- 
pital almost  the  whole  of  his  life;"  who  "understands  the 
tune  of  the  language  to  which  the  ear  of  a  native  is  set;"  and 
who  feels  that  "vernacular  instinct"  which  prevents  the 
possibility  of  error?  What!  shall  one  bred  in  the  wilds  of 
America,  who  never  saw  the  white  cliffs  of  Albion,  or 
breathed  the  sweet  air  of  The  Capital:  who  understands  not 
the  tune  of  the  language,  nor  feels  that  infallible  vernacular  in- 
stinct, set  up  his  opinion  in  opposition  to  thatoflMr.  Walker? 
I  have  no  desire  to  detract  from  this  gentleman's  merits; 
but  I  have  promised  to  point  out  certain  errors  into  which 
I  conceive  he  has  fallen,  and  to  show  that  the  English  pro- 
nunciation, taking  Walker  as  the  standard,  is,  in  many 
instances,  less  analogical  than  the  American. 


304  THE    SAVAGE. 

Mr.  Walker  is  so  fond  of  aspirations,  as  he  ealls  them, 
that  he  says pitck-e-<nis  rather  than  pileous.pelch-u -taut  rather 
than  petulant,  pleneh-e-mis  rather  than  plenteous,  &-e.  This  is 
not  only  contrary  to  general  usage  in  tlie  United  States 
but  contrary  to  the  analogies  of  the  language.  And  this 
eminent  orthoepist  is  betrayed  into  repeated  inconsisten- 
cies, by  his  attempts  to  establish  the  coincidence  of  his 
theory  with  the  polite  usage-  of  the  British  metropolis. 

Mr.  Walker  has  laid  it  down  as  a  rule,  that  whenever  t 
precedes  u,  and  the  accent  immediately  follows  it,  then  t 
preserves  its  simple  sound;  but  when  the  accent  precedes 
the  t,  then  the  t  is  sounded  like  ch:  consequently,  he  will 
not  agree  to  say  choon  choob  chooter  choomvlt  choonic,  &e. 
with  i>Ir.  Sheridan  instead  of  tune  tube  tutor  tumult  tunic,  Sec. 
nevertheless,  he  insists  upon  vachure  misforchune  fonhunc. 
virchue  ligdckuregignachurt  forfeitchure,  &c«  instead  of  na- 
ture misfortune  fortune  virtue  It gaiure  signature  forfeiture,    &c. 

This  monstrous  pronunciation  may  prevail  in  Britain, 
and  it  may  likewise  sometimes  be  heard  in  New  England, 
as  we  find  it  is  countenanced  by  Webster:  but  I  will  ven- 
ture to  affirm  that  it  is  not  the  pronunciation  of  \he  well  edu- 
cated natives  of  the  middle  and  southern  states.  And  it 
introduces  such  horrible  irregularity  into  the  language 
I  am  surprised  that  it  should  be  advocated  by  any  one  who 
makes  pretensions  to  literature.  That  it  is  not  universal, 
even  in  England,  appears  from  Scott's  pronouncing  dic- 
tionary, and  from  the  writings  of  several  other  orthoepists. 

He  remarks  in  one  place,  that  'if  we  analyse  the  u  we 
shall  find  it  commence  with  the  squeezed  sound  of  e,  equi- 
valent to  the  consonant  y.  This  produces  the  small  hiss  be- 
fore taken  notice  of,  and  which  may  be  observed  in  the  pro- 
nunciation of  nature,niu\  borders  so  closely  on  naishure,  that 
it  is  no  wonder  Mr.  Sheridan  adopted  this  latter  mode  of 
spelling  the  word  to  express  its  sound."  Now  if  this  sen- 
tence have  any  signification,  it  must  mean  that  the  true 
pronunciation  of  nature  adventure,  $«c.  is  hate  yvre  advent- 
yure,  &c;  yet  we  are  directed  to  say  nachure  advenchure,  &c. 
We  would  desire  to  inquire  of  Mr.  Walker,  if  it  be  pos- 
sible to  retain  the  diphthongal  sound  of  the  u  when  the  Hs 
sounded  asc/t:  does  not  the  v.. in  that  case.degenerate  into  og? 

Again:  Mr.  Walker  lays  it  down  as  a  rule,  that  "when 
lis  succeeded  by  r  and  another  consonant,  not  in  a  final 
syllable,  it  has  exactly  the  sound  of  em  vermin  vernal,  <jrc." 
Therefore  it'  we  choose  to  follow  J>I  r.  Walker,  we  must  no 
longer  say  virtue  virgin  firkin  mirthful,  hut  vertve,  vergin.  fer- 
kin,  merthful.  We  are  also  directed  to  say  merr  mettle  mer- 
midon,  &e.  instead  of  myrrh,  myrtle,  myrmidon,  &c.    And  wo 


THE   SAVAGE.  305 

must  no  longer  indulge  ourselves  in  saying  mirthbirth  gird 
girt  skirt  whirl  girl;  but  be  particular  to  pronounce  these 
words  thuSfmerth,  berth,  &c.  Shall  we  leave  the  analogical 
sound  of  the  i  and  the  y  which  is  habitual  to  us,  and  learn 
the  anomalous  and  barbarous  pronunciation  of  Britain? 
Who  ever  heard  the  word  vertue  in  the  United  States  unless 
among  the  lowest  of  the  vulgar?  who  would  dare  to  say 
vcrgin  in  any  genteel  company  on  this  sideofthe  Atlantic? 
who,  that  has  any  ideas  of  propriety,  is  heard  to  say  gcrl 
instead  of  girl? 


SUNDAY. 

We  awoke.  The  morning  had  considerably  advanced; 
and  the  sun  sent  his  cheerful  beams  through  our  win- 
dow. We  raised  our  head,  rubbed  our  eyes,  cast  a 
glance  of  recognition  upon  the  rusty  furniture  of  our 
narrow  disorderly  apartment,  and  determined  to  arise. 
But  indolence  prevailed:  we  laid  our  head  again  upon 
the  pillow,  and  sunk  into  a  state  of  sweet  insensibility. 
We,  indeed,  still  continued  so  much  awake  as  to  be  con- 
scious of  existence;  but  we  had  fallen  so  far  under  the 
dominion  of  sleep  as  to  i'vee  us  from  the  cares  and  anxie- 
ties of  life.  O  enchanting  slumber!  sweet  relaxation  of 
body  and  mind!  How  delightful  it  is  to  lay  aside  hopes 
and  fears  and  solicitudes,  to  pass  the  boundaries  of  life, 
and  'o  wander  on  the  borders  of  nonexistence!  We  were 
roused  from  our  slumber  by  the  sound  of  the  bells:  they 
seemed  to  give  a  general  invitation  to  the  drowsy  inha- 
bitants of  the  city  to  go  up  to  the  house  of  prayer,  and 
return  thanks  to  the  Author  of  Nature  for  blessings  al- 
ready received  and  solicit  a  continuance  of  his  favor. 
For  a  moment  the  illusions  of  a  warm  imagination  pre- 
vailed over  the  cold  and  disagreeable  deductions  of  rea- 
son: we  said  to  ourself,  "Shall  we  go  up  to  Mount  Zion 
and  worship  with  the  christians?  Are  we  not  all  children 
of  the  same  common  father?  Why  then  may  we  not  join 
together  in  public  adoration  and  prayer?"  But  short  was 
the  empire  of  feeling:  we  thought  of  a  vain  proud  avari- 
cious intriguing  hypocritical  multitude,  who  assemble  for 
the  purpose  of  imposing  on  each  other  by  a  specions  afFec- 
tation  of  piety  and  a  variety  of  religious  grimaces.  The 


306  THE   SAVAGE. 

reflection  was  painful.  The  bells  continued  their  invita- 
tion: but  we  heard  them  no  longer:  we  thought  of  the 
errors  and  miseries  of  man;  we  thought  of  his  vices  and 
follies;  we  thought  of  the  madness  of  his  hopes,  the 
folly  of  his  fears,  and  the  ridiculous  nature  of  his  ambi- 
tion; we  thought  of  death.  But,  some  how  or  other,  our 
mind  was  uncommonly  ingenious  in  getting  rid  of  these 
sorrowful  cogitations.  The  mental  depression  we  had 
experienced  was  succeeded  by  a  soothing  tranquility: 
and  sleep,  a  second  time,  began  to  creep  over  our  senses, 
when  we  were  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  well  known 
voice  in  the  adjoining  apartment  inquiring  for  Piomin- 
go:  " What,"  continued  the  voice,  uin  bed,  do  you  say? 
unparalleled  laziness!"  The  sound  was  familiar  to  our 
ears;  and  without  much  difficulty  we  recognised  the  tones 
of  the  intelligent  but  talkative  Frank.  We  knew  that 
our  visitant  was  not  extremely  ceremonious;  and  there- 
fore, we  were  not  surprised  when  he  bolted  into  our 
chamber,  exclaiming,  "-Thou  indolent  savage!  thou  in- 
tolerable sluggard!  how  canst  thou  dream  away  exis- 
tence in  sloth  and  torpidity,  whilst  nature  arrayed  in  her 
gayest  attire  invites  thee  to  life  and  enjoyment?" 

Piomingo.  Pretendest  thou  to  be  civilized,  thou  dar- 
ing intruder?  Why  shouldest  thou  presumptuously  break 
into  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  the  temple  of  indolence, 
and  thus  outrageously  interrupt  my  repose! 

Frank.  The  object,  I  have  in  view,  is  the  promotion 
of  thy  happiness:  I  wish  to  effect  thy  reformation:  and 
the  end  being  good,  I  shall  find  no  difficulty  in  justify- 
ing the  means. 

Piomingo.  I  like  not  thy  philosophy.  Besides,  how 
canst  thou  suppose  thyself  capable  of  reforming  a  man 
whom  fifty  years  have  confirmed  in  his  errors:  I  am 
surprised  at  thy  vanity!  Thou  canst  only  make  a  few 
commonplace  observations:  all  which  I  have  heard  a 
thousand  times  before. 

Frank.  Truth  is  not  less  true,  because  it  has  been  fre- 
quently repeated. 

Piomingo.  But  it  is  much  less  forcible  on  that  account, 


THE   SAVAGE.  307 

I  assure  thee.     I  have  been  told,  even  from  infancy,  of 
the  impropriety  of  matutinal  indulgence:   yet  thou seest 
that  all   these  admonitions  have  had  no  influence  on  my 
conduct:  how  then   canst  thou  imagine  that  truths  as 
thou  callest   it,   when  delivered  by  a  christian,  should 
have  a  more  powerful  effect  than  when  proceeding  from 
the  mouth  of  the  sage  Oconi-mico,  or  from  the  lips  of  a 
prince  and   warrior,    my  venerable   grandfather,  Paya 
Mataha?  Besides,  is  not  this  Sunday?  a  day  of  rest?  a 
day  set  apart  for  the  express  purpose  of  relaxation  and 
repose?  I  insist  upon  it,  that  I  am  warranted  not  only  by 
your  scriptures,  but  by  divine  example,  m  resting  iron* 
my  labors  on  this  sabbath  of  the  Lord.      Do  I  not  keep 
it  holy?    Do  I  profane  it  with  any  "manner  of  work?'* 
Indeed  I  should    be    well  satisfied  if  there    were  two 
Sundays  in  every  week:  I  find  this  day  the  most  agree- 
able portion  of  my  time.   When  I  walk  out,  I  am  pleased 
to  see  the  people  neatly  attired,  moving  in  every  direc- 
tion in  search  of  recreation  and  amusement.     I  rejoice 
to  see  the  odious  shops  shut  up,  and  to  find  that  the  bus- 
tle of  business  is  suspended  for  a  moment.     I  rejoice, 
because  my  ears  are  no  longer  pained  by  the  clinking  of 
the  hammer  or  the  grating  of  the  saw,  overpowered  by 
the  clamor  of  fools,  or  stunned  by  the  rumbling  of  drays. 
How  cruel  was  the  conduct  of  the  French  republicans 
when  they  sacrilegiously  abolished  the  festivals  of  the 
church,  and,  instead    of  the   seventh,  allowed  only  the 
tenth,  part  of  time  to  religion,  amusement  and  rest!'  Was 
this   done,  that  time  might  be  properly  decimated?  or 
was  it  designed  to   promote  industry  and  labor?    The 
slavery  of  man,  in  every  civilized  nation,  is  already  in- 
tolerable: and  cruel  is  the  legislator  who  would  quench 
the  still  smoking  flax,  or  bruise,  with  a  heavy  hand, the 
reed  that.  i*  broken! 

Frank.  Thou  hast  already,  I  find,  been  long  enough 
among  us  to  learn  the  practice,  too  common  with  chris- 
tians, of  wresting  the  scriptures  in  support  of  thy  opi- 
nions, and  molding  them  ingeniously  to  answer  thy  pur- 
pose.    On  this  day,  we  are  informed  by  divines,  "we 


308  THE    SAVAGE. 

should  not  think  our  own  thoughts  or  speak  our  own 
words,"  but  devote  ourselves  entirely  to  religious  duties: 
to  singing  and  reading,  to  humiliation  and  prayer. 

Piomingo.  I  understand  thee  not.  If  this  day  be  the 
legitimate  successor  of  the  Jewish  sabbath,  then  is  it  a 
day  of  rest;  and  I  am  justified  in  seeking  repose.  If  it  be 
a  festival  instituted  in  honor  of  Christ's  resurrection, 
then  it  should  be  celebrated  by  moderate  indulgences, 
cheerful  amusements,  and  innocent  hilarity.  Away  with 
your  long  faces  and  downcast  looks,  ye  moping  and  sor- 
rowful christians!  do  ye  mourn  because  your  savior  has 
risen  from  the  dead? 

Frank.  Piomingo!  A  New  England  puritan  or  Scotch 
presbylerian,  if  possessed  of  the  power,  would  burn  thee 
for  heresy.  They  suppose  sabbath  breaking  to  be  one  of 
those  crying  sins,  which  not  only  insure  the  damnation 
of  the  offender,  but  call  down  the  vengeance  of  heaven 
upon  the  nation  in  general.  They  walk  with  sad  sobriety 
straight  forward,  or  sit  like  statues  of  despair  without 
looking  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left.  Should  any  one 
inadvertently  make  use  of  a  thoughtless  expression,  or 
suffer  a  rebellious  smile  to  rise  in  his  countenance,  his 
tender  conscience  immediately  is  alarmed,  and  he  seeks 
the  Lord  with  tears  and  lamentations,  and  entreats  him  to 
forgive  the  corruptness  and  pervcrseness  of  a  miserable 
sinner. 

Piomingo.  And  do  they  suppose  that  the  Lord  will  be 
delighted  with  their  crocodile  tears  and  face  of  despair? 
or  do  they  expect  to  deceive  him  by  their  whining  com- 
plaints and  cringing  servility?  Can  God  be  pleased  with 
men 

so  faint,  so  spiritless 

So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  wc-begone? 

Frank.  Tell  me:  how  do  you,  savages,  worship  the 
divinity? 

Piomingo.  We  worship  the  great  and  good  spirit  with 
singing  and  dancing,  feasting,  playing  on  musical  instru- 
ments, and  making  ourselves  merry  in  his  presence:  we 
suppose  that  he  delights  to  look  down  on  the  happiness 

»">f    hie  fi|»ilf1ro»-i 


TUB   SAVAGE.  309 

Frank.  But,  do  you  nwer  endeavor  to  avert  his  dis- 
pleasure by  fasting  and  prayer?  Do  you  never  try  to 
atone  for  your  sins  by  voluntary  penances,  or  by  extra- 
ordinary exertions  ol*  virtue? 

Piomitigo.  Never:  \vc  do  not  suppose  it  possible  that 
he  should  become  the  minister  ol  evil,  or  direct  Ids  ven- 
geance against  the  creatures  of  his  power. 

Frank.  What  then  is  the  design  of  your  fasts,  prayers; 
purifications,  charms,  oblations,  &e.  of  which  1  have 
frequently  heard? 

Piomingo.  These  are  designed  to  propitiate,  conciliate, 
or  inliuence,  a  multitude  of  inferior  spirits,  whose  dispo- 
sitions are  supposed  to  be  as  changeable  and  capricious 
as  our  own. 

Frank.  Travellers,  therefore,  reporttruly,  when  they 
assert  that  you  worship  (bedevil? 

Piomingo.  They  assert  a  falsehood:  we  worship  no  be- 
ing that  any  way  resembles  the  devil  of  the  christians. 
But  we  believe  that  numerous  spirits  exist  on  the  earth, 
in  the  waters,  and  in  the  regions  of  the  air,  who  are  nei- 
ther wholly  benevolent  nor  wholly  malignant  in  their 
nature:  these  we  endeavor  to  propitiate,  when  offended, 
by  abstinence  and  prayer;  these  we  conciliate  by  offer- 
ings; and  these  we  sometimes  coerce  by  our  charms 
and  incantations.  We  have  been  taught  to  believe  that 
the  operations  of  nature  are  carried  on  by  an  infinite 
number  of  beings  resembling  men  in  many  particulars, 
but  greatly  superior  in  power.  Some  of  these  reside  in 
deep  valleys,  among  rocks,  or  in  caverns  of  the  earth: 
they  preside  over  minerals,  regulate  the  movement  of 
subterraneous  waters,  kindle  volcanoes,  and  excite,  when 
displeased,  convulsions  and  earthquakes;  others  feed 
bubbling  fountains,  preside  over  lakes,  direct  the  wan- 
dering rivulet,  impel  the  majestic  march  of  rivers,  and 
occasion  the  ebbing  and  flowing  of  the  sea.  Some  raise 
the  mountain  mists;  and  others  awake  the  exhalations 
of  the  valley.  Some  skim,  in  dark  nights,  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  stream,  and  terrify  the  Indian,  in  his  solitary 
canoe,    with   their   mournful    exclamations;  others  are 


310  THE    SAVAGE. 

heard  to  groan  in  the  oaks  of  the  forest,  to  moan  in  the 
thickest  recesses  of  the  canebrake,  and  whisper  in  the 
winds  that  rush  through  the  tops  of  the  pines.  Some- 
times the  benighted  wanderer  in  the  desert  sees  a  cheer- 
ful fire  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  in  the  head  of  a  valley,  or 
afar  off  on  the  plain  amid  the  towering  trees  of  the  fo- 
rest: he  rejoices  in  hopes  of  reaching  the  camp  of  the 
hunter:  but  the  deceitful  fiend  shifts  its  situation,  and  flits 
with  its  lambent  light  over  dreary  swamps  and  desolate 
marshes;  and  having  led  the  unfortunate  vagrant  for  ma- 
ny a  weary  mile,  through  briery  dells  and  thickets  of 
thorn,  amid  craggy  rocks,  and  over  the  trunks  of  fallen 
trees;  having  cast  him  down  the  dangerous  precipice, 
thrown  him  into  the  yawning  pit,  or  conducted  him  into 
the  middle  of  the  quaking  morass,  it  extinguishes  the 
deceitful  flame;  and  a  laugh  of  triumphant  malignity  is 
heard  through  the  gloom  of  the  night!  Some  of  these 
airy  beings  are  supposed  to  waken  the  sun  from  his  night- 
ly repose,  and  strew  the  courts  of  his  palace  with  roses; 
others  wait  his  approach  in  the  chambers  of  the  west,  and 
conduct  him  to  the  depths  of  the  ocean.  Some  watch  over 
the  nascent  herbage,  and  feed  the  green  maize  with  sa- 
lutary juices;  others  ride  on  the  wings  of  the  ravaging 
storm,  and  add  fury  to  the  turbulent  winds.  Some  scat- 
ter thick  fogs,  and  unveil  the  lace  of  the  sun;  others  roll 
together  black  clouds,  and  pour  down  torrents  of  rain. 

Frank.  How  do  you  know  when  these  spirits  are  of- 
fended? 

Piomin^o.  When  the  fountains  are  dried;  when  the 
winds  are  forbidden  to  blow;  when  the  earth  is  burned  by 
the  heat  of  the  sun;  when  the  corn  is  blighted;  when  ar- 
mies of  flies,  locusts  and  caterpillars  devour  the  green 
herbage,  and  eat  up  the  verdue  of  the  trees;  when  the 
deer  have  forsaken  their  haunts,  and  the  buffaloes  no 
longer  are  found  in  the  forest;  when  the  gun  of  the  war- 
rior misses  its  aim,  and  the  fire  has  forsaken  his  flint; 
when  the  widowed  dove  complains  at  the  door  of  the  hut, 
or  the  nightly  whipperwill  takes  his  station  on  the  roof 
of  the  cottage;  when  myriads  of  buzzards  assemble  in 


THE   SAVAGE.  311 

our  villages;  when  dogs  raise,  at  midnight,  the  howl  of 
lamentation;  when  the  fishes  are  found  dead  in  the 
stream;  finally,  when  the  beloved  people  are  afflicted 
with  new  and  terrible  diseases:  then  know  we  that  the 
gods  are  offended. 

Frank.  In  that  case,  what  course  do  you  pursue? 

Piomingo.  We  inquire  into  the  conduct  of  our  nation; 
we  endeavor  to  discover  if  any  one  have  offended  against 
the  beloved  speech  received  from  our  fathers;  and,  if  it 
appear  that  any  Indian  has  neglected  the  accustomed 
ceremonies,  has  departed  from  our  ancient  simplicity  of 
manners,  has  been  guilty  of  an  action  unbecoming  a  be- 
loved red  man  and  a  warrior,  that  man  is  subjected  to 
punishment;  he  is  forbidden  to  appear,  for  a  limited 
lime,  in  the  council,  and  is  excluded  from  those  solemn 
dances  and  feasts  which  were  instituted  in  honor  of  the 
divinity.  If  his  crime  be  very  great,  he  is  banished. 
Should  it,  however,  appear  upon  inquiry  that  no  offence 
can  be  imputed  to  individuals  or  to  the  people  collec- 
tively, we  are  apt  to  direct  our  resentment  against  our 
prophets  and  priests:  and  they,  sometimes,  answer  with 
their  lives  for  having  suffered  the  nation  to  incur  the 
displeasure  of  the  gods,  by  their  own  negligence  in  per- 
forming their  religious  duties. 

Frank.  In  what  manner  do  you  appease  those  ill  natur- 
ed  divinities  when  they  have,  by  incontestable  signs, 
evinced  the  existence  of  their  anger? 

Piomingo.  "The  eye  sees  not  itself:"  Although  thou 
mayest  be  unable  to  perceive  the  follies  and  absurdities  of 
thy  countrymen,  thou  wouldest,  no  doubt,  be  sufficiently 
clearsighted  to  discern  the  errors  of  Indians;  and  thou 
wouldest  probably  feel  inclined  to  show  thy  superiority 
by  laughing  at  our  ridiculous  modes  of  expiation. 

Frank.  Have  you  consecrated  places,  vestments,  in- 
struments, pictures,  or  images? 

Piomingo.  Some  tribes  represent  invisible  beings  by  the 
means  of  pictures  and  images;  but  this  is  rather  uncom- 
mon with  American  savages.  We  have  a  house  set  apart 
for  holy  purposes:  in  which  are  kept  certain  religious  sym- 


SI  2  THE   SAVAGE. 

hols;  and  in  which  the  new  fire  is  kindled  at  the  com- 
mencement of  every  year.  Our  high  priest  has  a  dress  con- 
secrated lor  solemn  occasions.  Many  places  are  said  to  be 
under  the  protection  of  spirits,  and  consequently  are  sup- 
posed to  he  sanctified  by  their  presence.  Mountains, 
rocks,  cataracts,  rivers,  springs  and  valleys,  are  frequent- 
ly objects  of  great  veneration:  and  this  veneration  is  oc- 
casioned either  by  some  traditionary  story,  or  by  the 
uncommon  appearances  exhibited  at  these  places.  When 
we  approach  these  sacred  objects,  we  adore  the  invisible 
beings  who  are  supposed  to  be  present,  and  solicit  their 
favor  and  protection.  But  it  may  not  be  amiss  1o  remark, 
that,  although  the  American  Indians  reverence  the  gods, 
they  never  practise  any  of  those  abject  grovelling  acts  of 
devotion,  which  are  so  customary  in  civilized  nations: 
they  never  feel  that  self  abasement  that  prostration  of  soul, 
which  is  so  much  recommended  by  christian  writers. 
In  the  midst  of  a  tremendous  thunder  storm,  when  the 
heavens  appeared  to  menace  the  earth  with  destruction, 
I  have  seen  the  savages  rush  out  of  their  tents,  and  dis- 
charge their  rifles  at  the  cloud  in  token  of  defiance.  When 
their  reasons  for  this  absurd  conduct  were  demanded, 
they  replied  in  the  following  manner:  "Why  should  he 
dart  his  lightning  at  our  heads,  and  endeavor  to  frighten 
us  with  the  voice  of  his  thunder?  We  are  beloved  men  and 
terrible  warriors:  we  cannot  be  intimidated."  "But," said 
some  one,  "are  you  not  afraid  to  offend  the  mingo  of  the 
thunder?"  "No,°  they  replied:  "why  should  we  fear  him? 
Let  him  afflict  us  with  pain,  and  torment  us  with  diseases 
— we  know  how  to  suffer!  Let  him  blast  us  with  his  light- 
ning.or  strike  us  dead  with  his  thunder;  death  we  despise!" 
Frank.  Absurd  conduct  indeed!  But  what  could  we 
expect  from  savages,  pagans,  heathens,  idolaters?  from 
men  who  worship  an  innumerable  multitude  of  malig- 
nant or  capricious  deities?  from  men  who  adore  caverns, 
rocks,  mountains,  winds,  and  clouds?  from  men  who  re- 
present invisible  beings  by  statues  of  wood  or  images 
of  clay?  from  men  who  people  the  universe  with  imagi- 
nary gods,  and  endeavor  to  control  the  operations  of  na- 
ture by  childish  and  ridiculous  charms? 


THE    SAVAGE.  313 

Piomingo.  If  these  things  be  absurd,  they  are  not  pe- 
culiar to  us.  All  nations,  of  which  we  have  any  know- 
ledge, have  believed  in  the  existence  of  beings  superior 
toman,  by  whatever  name  they  may  have  been  known, 
angels,  genii,  spirits,  gods.  The  delightful  mythology 
of  the  Greeks  cheered  the  face  of  nature  with  a  charm- 
ing variety  of  immortals,  and  diffused  animation  through 
every  part  of  the  universe;  and  your  great  epic  poet, 
when  delivering  the  traditionary  belief  of  the  Jews,  as 
well  as  christians,  has  said  or  sung, 

Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep: 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  hehold 
Both  day  and  night:  how  often  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thiefcet  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air, 
Ho'e  or  responsive  to  each  other's  note, 
Singing  their  great  Creator? 

It  must  indeed  be  acknowledged  that  men,  as  soon  as 
they  begin  to  think  that  they  understand  the  operations 
of  nature,  endeavor  to  account  for  the  various  pheno- 
mena without  calling  in  the  aid  of  these  numerous  in- 
telligences: They  would  rather  venerate  a  blind  myste- 
rious unintelligible  something,  to  which  they  have  given 
the  name  of  attraction;  they  would  rather  attribute  the 
movements  and  revolutions  of  things  to  the  necessity  of 
their  nature,  or  to  the  agency  of  a  fluid,  than  believe  in 
the  existence  of  intelligent  causes.  Well:  what  shall  we 
infer  from  this? — Nothing  but  uncertainty, darkness, and 
error.  The  same  philosophy  which  has  annihilated  the 
iiereids  and  naiads,  the  oreads,  and  dryads;  which  has 
wrested  the  thunderbolt  from  Jupiter,  and  the  trident 
from  Neptune, — that  same  philosophy  has  attempted  to 
destroy  our  hopes  of  immortality,  and  dispense  with  all 
intelligence  in  the  government  of  the  universe. 

The  philosophers  have  certainly  made  discoveries; 
but  they  are  melancholy  discoveries.  They  have  become 
possessed  of  a  little  knowledge:  knowledge  enough  to 
show  the  fallacy  of  those  delightful  illusions  which  em- 
bellished existence:  knowledge  enough  to  show  that 
nothing  can  be  known,  and  to  overwhelm  us  with  doubts 
lib 


314  THE  SAVAGE. 

and  despair.  They  have  shed  a  little  light  on  the  opera- 
tions of  nature:  light  enough  to  enable  us  to  discover 
the  darkness  and  terrors  of  our  situation;  light  enough 
to  dissipate  the  blooming  creations  of  fancy,  and  all  the 
high-wrought  pictures  of  a  fervid  imagination:  light 
enough  to  enable  us  to  cast  a  glance  of  horror  through 
the  desolate  regions  that  surround  us!  I  am  sick  of  your 
knowledge  and  your  light,  of  your  philosophical  inves- 
tigations and  metaphysical  disquisitions,  of  your  math- 
ematical demonstrations  and  theological  contentions,  of 
your  astronomical  discoveries  and  analytical  wonders.  I 
hate  your  telescope;  and,  your  microscope  I  despise.  I 
would  gladly,  were  it  possible,  obliterate  every  trace 
of  your  unsatisfactory  knowledge,  and  bury  myself, 
where,  and  where  only,  happiness  can  be  found — in  the 
lowly  vale  of  contented  ignorancel 

You  laugh  at  our  folly  because  we  direct  our  prayers 
to  inferior  spirits  rather  than  to  the  supreme  and  all-go- 
verning intelligence.  What  would  you  say,  should  I 
assert  that  your  practice  is  more  ridiculous  than  ours? 
We  may  hope  to  conciliate  the  favor,  avert  the  displea- 
pleasure,  or  determine  the  decisions,  of  inferior  spirits; 
who  are  subjected  to  passions,  and  governed  by  disposi- 
tions, similar  to  our  own:  but  who  can  influence  the  will 
or  sway  the  mind  of  an  unchangeable  God?  We  may- 
lay  open  our  thoughts  to  deities,  who  are  supposed  to  be 
ignorant  of  what  passes  in  our  minds;  and  we  may  con- 
vince them,  by  reasoning,  of  the  justice  of  our  cause: 
but  who  can  enlighten  the  understanding  of  Omniscience, 
or  direct  Wisdom  how  to  form  a  judgment  on  the  sub- 
ject proposed. 

You  may  smile  at  our  images  of  clay:  but  here,  also, 
we  can  make,  for  ourselves,  a  tolerable  apology:  and  our 
conduct,  when  contrasted  with  that  of  your  religious  en- 
thusiasts, will  not  appear  so  laughable  as  you  seem  to 
imagine.  We  do  not  worship  the  wood  or  clay,  of  which 
the  statue  is  composed;  but  the  deity  who  is  supposed, 
to  sanctify  it  by  his  presence.  We  do  not  adore  the  ca- 
vern, the  rock,  the  fountain,  the  cataract,  the  wind,  or 


THE    SAVAGE.  315 

the  cloud;  but  the  spirits  who  have  taken  up  their  resi- 
dence there.  Does  not  every  one  who  worships  an  invi- 
sible being,  form,  in  his  mind,  an  image  of  the  being  he 
adores?  Why  then  may  we  not  assist  hi«a  in  his  concep- 
tions by  visible  representations?  Is  it  to  be  expected  that 
his  ideal  image  will  be  a  more  correct  likeness  than  the 
production  of  our  statuary,  however  rude  it  may  appear 
to  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur?  May  he  not  as  well  take 
the  resemblance  of  his  god  from  the  hands  of  our  inge- 
nious artificer  as  worship  the  monstrous  creation  of  his 
own  distempered  and  agitated  mind? 

Our  attempts  to  control  the  operations  of  nature  by 
charms  and  incantations  may  appear  ridiculous  to  the 
philosophic  few  in  civilized  nations:  but  this  weakness 
cannot  appear  surprising  in  us,  when  it  may  be  safely 
asserted  that  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  most  enlightened 
nation  on  earth  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  charms  as 
whimsical  and  cdildish  as  ours.  We  are  not  more  super- 
stitious, in  this  particular,  than  were  the  ancients: 

Carmim  dii  supcri  placantur,  carmine  manes, 

"By  charms,"  says  another  poet,  "the  moon  can  be 
brought  down  from  heaven:  by  charms  Circe  changed 
the  companions  of  Ulysses  into  swine:  and  the  cunning 
serpent  is  destroyed  by  charms. " 

Frank.  You  have,  J  understand,  among  you,  many 
customs  and  ceremonies,  which  you  religiously  observe, 
although  you  are  unable  to  give  any  rational  account  of 
their  origin  or  signification, 

Piomingo.  Well:  is  it  not  better  that  unmeaning  ce- 
remonies, should  occupy  our  time,  and  that  our  religion 
should  consist  of  a  round  of  external  observances,  than 
that  we  should  be  continually  gasping  for  heavenly  in- 
spirations, waiting  for  the  illapses  of  the  divinity,  or 
swelling  with  imaginary  afflatus-,  until,  having  deceived 
ourselves  as  well  as  others,  we  be  driven  to  madness  by 
the  illusions  of  a  distempered  imagination? 

Besides,  every  innoeent  custom,  how  frivolous  soever 
it  may  appear,  should  be  carefully  observed.  Every  in- 
novation  in  national  manners  opens  a  door  for  the  en- 


316  THE    SAVAGE. 

trance  of  vice,  and  shakes  the  foundations  of  virtue.  Vir- 
tue has  been  often  compared  to  a  plant:  and,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  poetize  a  little,  I  would  consider  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  a  beautiful  but  tender  exotic  transferred  from 
the  mild  and  benignant  climafe  of  heaven  to  the  bleak 
and  ungenial  region  of  the  earth;  where  it  must  be  pro- 
tected by  the  sheltering  walls  of  salutary  prejudices,  or 
it  will  perish. 

Every  innovation  in  national  manners  is  dangerous  be- 
cause it  lessens  our  veneration  for  the  wise  institutions  of 
our  fathers;  it  lessens  the  respect  we  should  feel  for 
ourselves  as  members  of  a  particular  community;  it  de- 
stroys nationality;  it  breaks  down  the  barrier  which  the 
wisdom  of  our  ancestors  has  raised  between  us  and  the 
other  nations  of  the  earth;  it  cuts  away  the  dikes  which 
have  defended  us  for  ages  from  the  tempestuous  waves 
which  agitate  the  world:  until,  finally,  we  are  over- 
whelmed by  an  ocean  of  vices. 

Frank.  It  is  true,  those  sages,  who  have  acquired  im- 
mortality by  the  establishment  of  nations,  appear  to  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  institute  national  customs  and  re- 
gulations, and  to  instil  local  prejudices  into  the  minds  of 
the  people,  who  were  the  objects  of  their  care;  but  their 
plans  were  defective  and  erroneous,  because  they  were 
not  calculated  for  extensive  empires,  and  because  they 
had  a  tendency  to  originate  and  perpetuate  national  an- 
tipathies and  wars. 

Piomingo.  It  is  easy  to  find  fault;  but  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  show  how  they  could  have  acted  more  judicious- 
ly than  they  did.  They  were  not  so  vain  as  to  suppose 
themselves  capable  of  regenerating  and  reforming  the 
world,  but  wisely  directed  their  exertions  to  the  promo- 
tion of  the  felicity  of  their  countrymen.  If  a  man  endea- 
vor to  overturn  a  mountain,  his  labor  will  be  lost;  but 
if  he  exert  himself  to  remove  a  stone  or  a  piece  of  tim- 
ber out  of  his  way,  he  will  probably  be  successful. 

One  of  those  venerable  legislators  found  himself  in  a 
situation  which  enabled  him  to  influence  the  decisions 
of  an  inconsiderable  people,  whose  happiness  he  was 
anxious  to  secure.     To  them  he  issued  his  commands: 


THE   SAVAGE.  317 

and,  in  order  that  they  might  make  a  suitable  impres- 
sion on  their  minds  he  called  in  the  assistance  of  heaven. 
The  precepts  inculcated  were  delivered  as  the  oracles 
of  God:  and  the  transgressor  not  only  suffered  the  pun- 
ishment announced  by  the  law,  but  trembled  at  incur- 
ring the  displeasure  of  the  divinity.  The  virtuous  cit- 
izen was  not  only  rewarded  by  the  applauses  of  his 
country  and  distinguished  by  honorary  marks  of  her 
favor;  but  he  also  felt  happy  in  the  idea  of  having  se- 
cured the  favor  and  protection  of  heaven. 

The  wise  lawgiver  saw  the  necessity  of  raising  an 
insurmountable  barrier  between  his  political  children  and 
the  other  nations  of  the  earth.  How  can  he  preserve 
his  favorites  from  contamination? shall  lie  build  a.  wall  of 
adamant  that  cannot  be  scaled?  shall  he  surroundt  hem 
with  mountains,  whose  impassable  summits  asscend  to 
the  heavens?  shall  he  call  around  them  the  waves  of 
some  restless  and  tempestuous  ocean?  or  shall  he  hide 
them  in  the  midst  of  an  inhospitable  desert?  These 
things  exceed  his  abilities;  but  he  may,  by  judicious  re- 
gulations, render  the  objects  of  his  care  and  the  neigh- 
boring nations  reciprocally  odious  to  each  oilier. 

It  may  be  observed  that  these  ancienjt  lawgivers 
thought  salutary  prejudices  and  an  unvarying  system  of 
manners  necessary  for  the  prosperity  of  virtue;  but  mo- 
dern philosophers  endeavor  to  eradicate  all  prejudices, 
whether  beneficial  in  theireffects  or  otherwise:  they  are 
in  quest  of  truth,  but  they  ought  to  reflect  that  truth, 
enough  to  answer  their  purpose,  will  never  be  jound. 
Should  they  even  follow  Nature  to  her  hiding  place  and 
ravish  the  master  secret  from  her  bosom;  would  the  dis- 
covery be  productive  of  happiness  to  man? 

Every  one  now  appears  desirous  to  promote  the  in- 
tercourse of  nations.  Were  all  nations  equally  vicious, 
were  society  every  where  equally  corrupt;  were  all  laws 
and  constitutions  of  government,  equally  well  calculated 
to  promote  the  felicity  of  man,  were  all  customs,  opi- 
nions, and  pursuits,  equally  conducive  to  the  practice  of 
virtue;  then,  indeed,  a  philosopher  might  be  well  pleased 


318  THE   SAVAGE. 

to  see  nations  supply  each  others'  wants,  reciprocate  of- 
fices of  friendship,  and  maintain  a  continual  intercourse; 
then,  he  need  not  be  apprehensive  of  promoting  civili- 
zation at  the  expense  of  virtue  and  happiness:  but,  if 
the  laws,  constitutions,  customs,  prejudices,  manners, 
pursuits,  of  one  people,  be  more  desirable  than  those  of 
another,  what  will  be  the  consequence  of  association? 
All  the  advantages  which  the  virtuous  nation  derived 
from  its  local  institutions  will  gradually  lessen,  and  final- 
ly disappear. 

Ancient  lawgivers  studied  the  nature  of  man,  and 
formed  his  mind  to  virtue  and  glory;  but  the  founders  of 
modern  republics  think  mind  altogether  unworthy  of 
their  attention:  they  take  no  measures  to  prevent  the 
existence  of  vice,  but  suppose  they  have  fulfilled  their 
duly,  when  they  inflict  punishment  on  the  vicious. 

What  wouldest  thou  think  of  a  physician,  to  whom 
some  prince  had  committed  the  care  of  the  health  of 
his  subjects,  who,  instead  of  recommending  temperance 
and  exercise,  and  using  every  means  in  his  power  to  pre- 
vent the  existence  of  disease;  instead  of  watching  the 
approaches  of  destemper,  and  administering,  in  good 
time,  the  necessary  remedy;  should  encourage  the  objects 
of  his  care  in  every  species  of  excess,  and  pay  no  atten- 
tion whatever  to  the  causes  or  progress  of  indisposition; 
but  when  the  patient  should  become  absolutely  incurable 
would  order  his  head  to  be  taken  off  by  an  attendant? — 
Such  is  the  conduct  of  modern  legislators:  they  never 
attempt  to  form  the  mind;  to  give  a  salutary  direction  to 
its  energies;  to  implant  the  seeds  of  honor,  patriotism, 
friendship,  heroism;  to  awaken  in  the  breast  a  love  of 
glory,  and  stir  up  the  sparks  of  noble  ambition.  No:  they 
permit  every  species  of  vice  to  flourish  until  it  have 
taken  such  deep  root  in  society,  that  it  cannot  be  extir- 
pated. What  then?  The  sapient  legislators  assemble 
and  make  a  law  against  this  destructive  vice:  and  in  obe- 
dience to  this  law,  the  sword  of  justice  is  sent  forth  to 
destroy  those  members  of  the  community  who  are  most 
deeply  infected  with  the  prevailing   distemper:  a  dis- 

temnftr  Whir.h.  if  flip  (mvprnmpnf  liart  rlrtno  itc  rlnf  ir    txrrmLrl 


THE    SAVAGE.  319 

never  have  existed.  Another  vice  becomes  universal; 
and  another  law  is  made  against  the  vicious.  Crimes  are 
multiplied,  and  laws  are  multiplied  also;  until  men  lose 
the  idea  of  right  and  wrong  in  that  of  lawful  and  unlaw- 
ful: and  however  base,  perfidious  and  unjust  their  con- 
duct may  be,  they  account  themselves  ugood  men  and 
true"  if  they  do  not  incur  the  penalty  of  the  law. 

It  is  amusing  to  hear  those,  who  thrive  by  the  vices 
and  follies  of  others,  and  fatten  on  the  corruptions  of  so- 
ciety, boast  of  their  civilization  and  adduce  the  multipli- 
city of  their  laws  as  a  proof  of  their  refinement.  Where- 
as, in  truth,  the  multiplicity  of  their  laws  proves  nothing 
but  the  multiplicity  of  their  crimes. 

Frank.  Is  it  not  true,  that  savages  have  but  few  laws, 
and  that  civilized  nations  have  many?  And  does  not  this 
arise  from  multifarious  businesses  and  diversified  rela- 
tions on  the  one  hand,  and  from  sameness  of  life  and 
restricted  intercourse  on  the  other? 

Piomingo.  It  is  true,  that  savages  have  ^ew  laws,  be- 
cause they  are  governed  by  a  system  of  manners — because 
they  are  virtuous:  and  it  is  also  true,  that  polished  nations 
have  many  laws,  because  their  manners  are  corrupted — 
because  they  are  villous.  However  highly  polished  a  na- 
tion might  be,  however  various  the  relations  that  might 
subsist  among  the  individuals  composing  the  same,  if  men 
were  just,  there  would  be  no  necessity  for  laws — there 
would  be  no  laws.  Yet  we  bear  the  wisest  among  you 
boasting  of  your  multiplied  statutes:  as  well  might  the 
captive  be  proud  of  his  chains,  or  the  slave  of  the  whip 
suspended  over  his  shoulders!  But  we  are  also  told  that 
your  laws  are  just:  and  of  that  you  are  vain:  were  the 
laws  unjust,  something  might,  be  inferred,  from  that  cir- 
cumstance, in  your  iavor;  but  as  they  are  just,  you  must 
be  unjust.  Thou  shall  not  steals  was  a  very  just  law:  but 
it  proves  there  were  thieves  among  the  Jews. 

Frank.  Dost  thou  suppose  that  the  founders  of  the 
American  republic  should  have  imitated  the  conduct  of 
those  sages  of  antiquity  to  whom  thou  hast  alluded? 
Piomingo.  As  far  as  it  might  have  been  practicable,  they 


320  THE   SAVAGE. 

lions  as  would  have  had  a  tendency  to  give  a  national 
charactertothe  people  of  the  United  States.  They  should 
have  instituted  a  grand  national  system  of  education,  and 
breathed  the  spirit  of  virtuous  republicanism  into  the  ris- 
ing generation.  They  should  have  instituted  schools, gym- 
nasia, games,  festivals.  They  should  have  made  it  their 
primary  concern  to  raise  citizens  for  the  only  republic 
on  earth.  They  should  have  considered  the  youth  of  both 
sexes  as  belonging  to  the  nation,  and  have  taken  care  that 
the  offspring  of  the  indigent  should  not  be  brutalized  by 
drudgery,  nor  that  of  the  opulent  ruined  by  indulgence. 
They  should  have  distinguished  excellence  by  honorary 
rewards  and  desirable  privileges,  and  have  rendered  in- 
dolence, avarice,  and  selfishness,  contemptible.  Indeed, 
any  institution,  which  would  have  created  nationality, 
would  have  been  attended  with  an  infinity  of  advantages. 
But  nothing  of  this  nature  was  attempted:  they  legisla- 
ted concerning  exports  and  imports,  offices  and  salaries. 
They  thought  nothing  worth  their  attention  but  the  acqui- 
sition and  protection  of  property — the  ways  and  means 
of  getting  rich,  and  the  sweets  of  luxurious  enjoyment. 
No  plan  of  education  has  been  formed:  no  grand  national 
work  has  been  undertaken;  no  glorious  enterprise  has 
been  achieved;  nothing  daring  and  magnanimous  has  been 
attempted,  which  might  give  the  citizens  a  high  opinion 
of  their  country,  of  their  government,  of  themselves;  no- 
thing has  been  thought  of  which  might  divert  the  attention 
of  the  citizens  from  their  avaricious  pursuits;  nothing  has 
be*en  imagined  which  might  share  the  respect  which  is 
now  paid  solely  to  riches;  no — the  image  of  no  new  God 
has  been  set  up,  which  might  divide,  with  Mammon,  the 
adorations  of  the  good  peopl®  of  the  United  States !  What 
will  be  the  fate  of  a  commonwealth  governed  by  such 
grovelling  sordid  stattsmen,suchintriguinglow  politicians? 
Itwill  become  a  nation  of  mercantile  adventurers, brokers, 
shopkeepers,  pedlers,  usurers,  and  unprincipled  specula- 
tors. A  mercenary  spirit  will  pervade  every  part  of  the 
community:  it  will  influence  the  actions  of  the  governing 
and  the  governed,  of  the  opulent  and  the  indigent,  of  the 


THE   SAVAGE.  321 

groaning  under  the  weight  of  oppression,  cowardly, 
weak,  divided,  effeminate,  base,  the  nation  will  become 
a  prey  to  the  first  daring  usurper  or  ambitious  invader. 

Frank.  We  wander  from  the  subject,  Piomingo.  Plato 
taught  his  disciples  in  the  shades  of  the  academy;  Epi- 
cures inquired  after  the  sovereign  good  in  the  delicious 
recesses  of  a  garden;  Zeno  instructed  his  followers  in  a 
portico;  Aristotle  was  the  father  of  the  walkers;  and  thou 
I  suppose,  meanest  to  institue  a  sect  of  sleeping  philoso- 
phers, and  give  lessons,  in  thy  bed,  on  indolence  of  body 
and  tranquility  of  mind.  Thou  wilt  place  the  summum 
bonum  in  a  torpor  of  the  faculties.  Wilt  thou  rise  vo- 
luntarily? or  shall  I  exert  a  little  salutary  force,  and 
compel  thee  to  obey  my  commands?  If  existence  be  de- 
sirable, why  should  we  cast  away  the  blessing?  A  man 
might  as  well  be  dead  as  continually  asleep. 

Piomingo.  {stretching and  yawning)  Mere  existence  is 
by  no  means  desirable:  therefore,  when  I  see  no  prospect 
of  pleasure,  I  grow  weary  of  life,  and  resorted  to  that 
species  of  temporary  death  which  is  vulgarly  called  sleep. 
Dead!  (yawning)  I  should  like  very  much  to  be  dead. 

Frank.  Die  then:  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  thee.-  I 
will,  as  a  friend,  endeavor  to  facilitate  thy  escape  from 
this  troublesome  world:  I  will  furnish  thee  witb  a  knife, 
a  rope,  or  a  poisoned  chalice:  I  will  accompany  thee  to 
the  brink  of  a  precipice,  or  to  the  banks  of  a  stream. 
Leap  boldly:  and  terrestrial  affairs  will  disturb  thee  no 
longer. 

Piomingo.  Thou  art  very  obliging:  but,  at  present  1  feel 
no  inclination  to  trouble  thee  with  commands  of  that  ex- 
traordinary nature.  For  dcalhwo.  may  "devoutly  wish;" 
but  dyings  I  apprehend,  must  be  rather  disagreeable. 
However,  to  convince  thee  of  my  respect  for  thy  advice, 
I  hasten  to  extricate  myself  from  the  embraces  of  sloth. 

Frank.  Thou  dost  well.  Sloth  is  a  most  pernicious  mis- 
tress: she  smiles,  soothes,  seduces,  and  caresses;  but, 
finally,  destroys  every  one  who  yields  to  her  blandish- 
ments. Though  thou  wert  Samson,  thou  wilt  lose  thy 
strength  if  thou  laycst  thy  head  in  the  lap  of  this  Deli- 
lah!    Though  thou  wert  Ulysses,  thou  wilt  sink  to  a 


322  THE    SAVAGE. 

state  of  brutal'ty  if  thou  yield  to  the  solicitations  of  this 
Circe!  Though  thou  wert  Hercules,  thou  wilt  become 
contemptible  if  thou  become  the  slave  of  thisOmphale! 

Piomingo.  Thou  speakest  well:  but  did  I  not  feel  an 
inclination  for  breakfast,  I  fancy  I  should  be  able  to  re- 
sist the  most  potent  of  thy  arguments,  and  withstand  thy 
most  ardent  solicitations. 

Frank.  I  have  heard  that  savages  smoke  and  sleep 
away  their  time,  and  cannot  be  roused  from  their  state 
of  stupefaction,  save  by  the  calls  of  hunger  or  a  desire 
of  revenge. 

Piomingo.  Thou  hast  not  been  correctly  informed. 
Friendship,  glory,  love  of  country ,  afford  motives  suffi- 
ciently powerful  to  call  forth  their  ardor,  and  produce 
the  most  heroic  exertions. 

Frank.  Wilt  thou  go  to  church? 

Piomingo.  I  think  not.  To  what  church  wouldest  thou 
lake  me? 

Frank.  Thou  art  so  old  that  I  have  small  hopes  of  be- 
ing so  blessed  as  to  witness  thy  conversion:  were  it  not 
that  I  am  discouraged  by  this  consideration,  I  should  in- 
sist upon  thy  attending  some  of  the  calvinistic,  reform- 
ed, doubly  refined,  and  evangelical  churches,  where 
thou  mighest  hear  the  gospel  preached  in  its  purity,  and 
be  carefully  instructed  in  the  doctrines  of  grace. 

Piomingo.  What  are  the  doctrines  of  grace? 

Frank.  We  are  commanded  not  to  "cast  pearls  be- 
fore swine."  Wert  thou  only  in  a  state  of  grace  and  ho- 
nored with  a  pair  of  "newinvented  patent"  spiritual 
eyes,  thou  wouldest  be  able  to  discover  the  beauty  of 
these  sublime,  man- depressing,  and  God-exalting  doc- 
trines. Ah!  it  is  a  very  comfortable  thing  to  be  in  a  state 
of  grace!  In  that  case,  my  dear  Piomingo,  thou  should- 
est  not  need  to  be  under  any  apprehensions  of  being 
eternally  damned:  thou  mightest  venture  slyly  to  indulge 
those  corruptions  of  thy  nature  which  might  not  be 
purged  away  by  the  process  of  regeneration;  but  thou 
wouldest  have  to  be  careful  not  to  bring  reproach  upon 
the  godly  by  thy  irregular  proceedings.  There  was  Da- 
vid, for  instance,  the  royal  nightingale:  he  made  a  few 


THE   SAVAGE.  323 

false  steps  in  his  progress  through  life:  but,  being  one 
of  the  elect,  his  soul  was  as  safe  as  a  guinea  in  the  iron 
chest  of  a  miser:  the  Lord  never  fails  to  pardon  the 
transgressions  of  his  children. 

Piomingo.  Thou  bringest  to  my  recollection  a  man 
greater  than  David — the  fighting*,  praying,  canting,  hy- 
pocritical, enthusiastic,  daring,  cruel,  magnanimous, 
Cromwell;  who  murdered  his  master,  and  committed  a 
few  barbarities  in  Ireland  and  Scotland.  He  inquired, 
towards  the  end  of  his  life,  if  it  were  certain,  that  the 
saints  could  not  fall  away  and  be  finally  lost.  Being  an- 
sweied,  that  nothing  was  more  certain,  he  exclaimed  with 
ex-ultaiion,  "Then  I  am  safe:  for  I  know  that  1  was  in  a 
state  of  grace!" — I  am  afraid  tftat  these  doctrines  are 
unfavorable  to  the  practice  of  virtue. 

Frank.  Virtue!  Evangelical  christians  never  men- 
tion virtue,  unless  in  the  way  of  reproach:  it  is  a  hea- 
thenish kind  of  a  thing — filthy  rags — yea,  d###  in  the 
sight  of  the  Lord.  Any  one  who  hopes  to  acquire  favor 
with  God  by  promoting  the  good  of  l|is  fellow  creatures 
is  regarded  by  them  with  the  utmost  contempt  and  ab- 
horrence, and  stigmatized  with  the  odious  epithets  of 
legalist  and  moralist.  They  feel  abundance  of  love  and 
veneration  for  that  being  who  from  all  eternity  judiciously 
selected  them  as  the  objects  of  his  beneficence;  but  they 
look  down  with  ineffable  contempt  on  a  reprobate  world 
— "vessels,  of  wrrath  fitted  to  destruction!"  They  have 
a  great  antipathy  against  nature  and  every  thing  natural, 
and  are  continually  striving  to  have  it  brought  into  sub- 
jection: indeed  they  have  been  so  far  successful  as  to 
have  brought  themselves  to  think  with  pleasure  of  the 
eternal  damnation  of  a  vast  majority  of  mankind.  They 
have  constructed  a  hell,  a  dreadful  hell,  in  which  they 
hope  to  see  unbelievers  eternally  punished:  Yea,  they 
flatter  themselves  with  the  idea  that  they,  the  saints,  shall 
be  placed  on  thrones,  and  will  have  the  sublime  happi- 
ness ct^  pronouncing  the  irreversible  doom,  of  never- 
ending  torments,  upon  impenitent  millions:  among  whom 
they  expect  to  see  reprobate  fathers,  mothers,  brothers, 
sisters,  wives  and  r.hildrpn! 


324 

INDEX. 

Recollections  of  Infancy, 

5 

Vitioua  Habits, 

111 

Longing  alter  immortality, 

8 

Complaint, 

114 

Communication. 

9 

The  Schoolmaster, 

123 

Old  age, 

10 

Prejudice, 

141 

ES'ecte  of  civilization. 

ii 

25 

From  Crito, 

146 

Acquisition  of  wealth, 

1? 

Travels, 

li4 

Discoveries, 

IS 

From  Crito, 

158 

Esquire, 

21 

Zeno, 

159 

Vanity, 

27 

Piorningo, 

«*. 

The  Hill  of  Life, 

28 

Cards, 

160 

Remonstrance  of  the  Letter  II 

?3 

The  savage  at  the  Theatre, 

164 

Prudence, 

35 

Commerce, 

167 

Recollections  of  Youth, 

3G 

Christinas, 

168 

The  Devil, 

?,s 

Education, 

172 

Friendship, 

48 

Mother  Wit, 

176 

What  is  Truth, 

65 

Manufactories, 

178 

Desire  of  Distinction, 

69 

Punctuation:  from  Crito, 

181 

Theology, 

71 

The  Walk, 

183 

Virtue, 

:2 

Pronunciation:  from  Crito,        227, 

SOS 

Justice, 

70 

Satire, 

233 

The  Grave, 

77 

Thoughts, 

•  £38 

The  stage  of  Life, 

79 

Savage  Correspondence, 

242 

Conversation, 

80 

Letter  I— From  Chotabowee, 

244 

Happiness, 

to 

95 

The  Statehouse  yard, 

147 

The  man  of  the  World, 

89 

Letter  11 — From  Chotahowee, 

254 

Politics, 

91 

Story  Telling, 

267 

Sermons, 

98 

Scandal, 

577 

Eating, 

100 

Peace, 

^5 

Society, 

104 

Letter  III— From  Chotabowee, 

293 

The  golden  age, 

ib- 

Sunday, 

30* 

Slavery, 

105, 

184 

